Commute

Concrete sky and gulls with '87 turbo Supra.  

Past the strip mall, a strip joint, a Target  

one arrives in dirty weather 

predetermined to be hot despite the snowfall  

and dismay as deep as hell.

Love is being offered to the vicious.  

Death to the betrayed  

money to the wealthy  

blackmail to the desperate  

insults to the patriots  

the nation to an enemy. 

And people were like 

Yeah. Because of you. 

Perhaps blood will flow one day. 

Perhaps it’s not America  

but the custom of success  

to dissolve in distress.

Ya no lo se.

I come from an office. See

I smell of garam masala

body-odor cortisol tuna-fish fever and cologne.

What do I know?

Go on, disbelieve me.

I heard the Pledge was a pagan act

no better than bowing to Caligula. 

As the stupid washed in from the radio 

I got my father's meaning 

by word of new abuse 

the veneration of crime 

venal officials  

sucking billionaire chum 

as democracy shut down  

to something sickly new. 

Just now the drug addict came to my car.  

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity sir!  

I gave him a cigarette, no money  

and wondered how 

this would be interpreted in heaven.

One day we must name our ways  

as northerners name types of snow.  

Snow falling equally  

on a strip mall, a strip joint, an intersection

arriving in the dirty wind  

predetermined to be hot despite the snowfall  

and dirty as a gas station  

with no money to get home  

though everyone has said  

they need me here tomorrow.