Americana

Americana

Another early night on the town
Followed by an early morning in a ditch
With Grand Marnier
And a reoccurring urge to vomit.
This looked better in the advertisements.

Another slice of American pie,
Now with 25% less fat,
Millions of faces in a melting pot
That tastes curiously like cheery
And prepackaged pie crust,
The byproduct of years of laziness and husbands in rocking chairs
Complaining.

Another east coast sunrise in a crab shack
And another west coast sunset on Venice beach,
Mainlining until 12am
And spending countless hours in a bathroom stall
Complaining about constipation.

There will be no words to document this
So forget trying to explain it.

Another day of trying to be original
And realizing that even that is now clichéd,
Biting off the cap of your pen to
Swallow the ink
And make it a part of you,
Only to realize that you need to brush your teeth.

Another five minutes until you reach depression
And ten more until it fades,
Enough seconds to hate life and existence and everything
Then regret it after you realize
You have no idea what you’re saying.

Another conversation where you’re waiting for your turn to speak,
A chance to spit your saliva
And your opinion in the same action
While being only minimally offensive.
All this for only three small payments of 49.95.

Another war movie that sells your striped banner
And has it waving in the wind at the end of a dramatic battle
That you won against all odds,
Even though the main character is full of holes.
Isn’t he always?

Another Main street and another bum sitting on the corner,
Asking for your change to buy Jack Daniels
And get so drunk as to forget the fact that he doesn’t have friends to do it with.
Another McDonalds on every corner,
99 billion served and the burger still sucks,
another competitor across the street,
another empty wallet.

Another big hit of Americana,
Injected in your veins and filmed by the best cinematographer to look dramatic,
Altering every chemical in your patriotic brain,
Misfiring every little neuron and making you something you’re not,
All for a price.

Even the American Dream can be bought.