The American Dream has some nightmares
attached to it, stories our parents never told us
all tucked in with greedy little fingers. It sleeps
in the folds of our blankets, hovers in the hollow homes
of women and children that can’t get enough to eat
no matter how many pieces of themselves they sell
like peanuts on the street. Downtown
a man works until his soul is black and bruised
yet can’t afford a doctor or new soles
for the bottoms of his shoes. Minimum wage
won’t allow him to turn his house into a home,
40 acres later and brotha still can't get a loan.
Won't play the blues since they stole that
too, but it’s alright. If he applies now
he just might qualify for a chance
to pay his dues.

Uptown a woman numbs herself to sleep, empty
bottle dangling from manicured hand
while shells of bodies come and go
from dirty sheets, count her money and take off
running as fast as they can. She never planned
to end up this way,traded in life
in the suburbs for life on the subway
and nobody ever tells her
that it’s gonna be okay anymore.

Bigger, better, faster, more it screams
from every billboard, the front of every store
as we run in circles on the quest to consume
like whores looking for a fix, a nation
of junkies quick to dismiss our addictions
while we’re fiening deep inside, doing anything
and everything in our power to stay high
including lie to the people who trust us the most,
boast of educations purchased second-hand
and sleep with the wife of the best man. It’s all a scam
designed to lure us to some promised land
where white picket fences come a dime a dozen
and god is omnipresent in the form of The Man, faith lost
in the fact that it’ll never be enough
though you’re doing the very best you can
on the constant quest for an answer,
a blueprint for the master plan.

08/05/2005

Posted on 08/05/2005
Copyright © 2025 Malika Bierstein