By Rachel Corso
Lover’s kisses and double suicides
Play out like low adagios across old piano keys.
An infinite melancholy masked by uptilted harmony;
The infamous joie de vivre—
The American Dream:
A smug nosed symphony of how we should be.
A rhythm filled with continuous blue-collared kisses near white picket fences—
The same stable beat where:
Suburban women in saucer-skirts and aprons
Make love to their honorable veterans
Based solely on the premise that this is what is expected—
An expectation placed on this soiled land—A land—
Complete with a list of latent demands
All composed by the notorious stork shaped hand—I want you—
To pledge your love in sweet sanctioned melodies
To this bourgeois l’échafaudage under god.
Yes, I want you—
My dear Uncle Sam,
To remove your trigger tired finger off that double suicide gun
And stop making bold threats of a mushroom cloud death.
Because after all—It is in you,
That we so proudly trust.