By Eliza Beth Whittington
America, why can’t you sleep?
Maybe you can call in a favor from the pharmaceutical companies.
(I’m kidding, of course, you can’t pay those premiums)
America, when will you end this charade?
Your dialogue is lame, I could’ve written it in third grade,
(Except, I went to your public schools)
America, you’ve got blood on your shirt.
Is that oil on your boots?
Are those the same bootstraps we’re supposed to pull ourselves up by?
America, when are the reparation checks coming?
America, do you remember signing a treaty?
How about 250?
America, there’s a black snake on your belly.
It looks hungry.
America, what will you do when Mexico stops sending you produce?
America, your bread basket is overflowing with inedible corn.
America, who, I mean what, is the last thing you ate?
America, I was a patriot as a child and I am ashamed.
America, I think you actually have selective memory;
Remember September 11th?
Of course you do.
Was the demolition crew
America, a girl was raped in the bathroom of her school yesterday.
Don’t look so surprised.
I noticed you were smug
It wasn’t you this time.
America, I notice your trees are getting thin,
Is that age or over-forestation?
America, don’t act like you discovered yourself.
A genocide by any other name is still a rose.
America, stop plagiarizing.
America, you look really good in those jeans.
Where did you get them?
How IS China, by the way?
Are you two still talking, or just importing.
(I know how it goes.)
America, how does your Army grow?
I got these jeans delivered by drone.
Obama, I mean, America, what did you deliver by drone?
America, I don’t think it’s those jeans that make you look fat.
America, don’t forget to subscribe and comment below.
America, I’m feeling nauseous. Don’t rush me, I’m going somewhere with this.
Betsy, I mean America, can I opt-in to a radical re-education?
Are you reading my emails again?
America, it occurs to me I can’t sleep.
I woke up from your dream
And I’m talking to myself again.