He woke halfway through
The American Dream
Screaming and soaked in sweat.
Left lies on his stained pillow,
Of shattered white pickets
On his lawn.
He decided to let the grass grow
And overtake his house until
Ramshackle side shingles disappeared
In weeds and wild vines
And the floors cracked with each creak
Grand slam baseball bat hits
To each window pane, and
Sharp end hammer to each manicured sill.
And the city officials bulldozed
The mildew walls, leaving
An eye-sore heap in the middle of town.
He let his house lay in ruin
With his VW rusting slowly
And burnt his time card for heat.
The pursuit of money promises happiness
But he don’t buy the formulaic
Contract of soul-selling firm rates
He dreamed of returning to this life
While he was in the jungle
But discovered the truth.
America was it’s own jungle
With venomous snakes debt mongering
And disease ridden mosquitos swarming for blood.
The American Dream was never his,
He decided. It was a nightmare shoved
Into his subconscious.
He left the wife and kids in the home across town
The one they moved to after the divorce
Catching out on a rickety freight,
Then bought a cheap bus and some grass
Parked on the river bank and toked
With the smokey ghosts of his buddies.
He threw a heavy chunk of rock
Into the river and watched
The ripples travel toward the sunset.
He imagined them a message
Of defiance and independence.
He imagined them inspiring
The world to reject the prepackaged prize.
Nature sang his praises
With the PLUNK-ching of that rock.
And if no one wanted to listen,
Well, that’s their fault.