I am a strip mall

I am a strip mall.
Long and vacant.
Asking to be be occupied.
Everything is on sale.

I am a Super Wal-Mart.
Filled with imported goods and food.
Electronics and guns for all to buy.
Diapers and candy too.

I am an eight-lane highway.
Hauling ass is my game.
I’m always in a hurry to move you.
My skin is hard but needs to be resurfaced.

I am a Chevron-Wendy’s combo.
Consumption is my middle name.
Fill up both of your tanks on me.
Sometimes I want to just be a gas station.

I am a Football stadium.
Crammed with 80,000 screaming fans.
I dull your senses for a few hours each week.
My goal is to make you not think or blink.

I am a Starbucks drive thru.
I’m on every corner and border too.
I give you the energy to make it through the day.
You pay extra for me because I am your luxury.

I am your land.
The land that your ancestors stole.
You buy me but you will never own me.
I am poisoned with your garbage, but I still live.

I am your history.
You have always spoken of revolution.
You have all come here for freedom.
You don’t know me so you repeat me.

I am your heritage.
You don’t keep me but give me away easily.
You forget the stories and songs that I gave you.
You will want me the most when you don’t remember me.

I am your culture.
I have given you a black hole in your heart you can not fill.
I want you to buy more and to feel less.
I want you to forget and repress.

You are an American.

Comments

  • This was in response to Smokey Robinson’s poem below, about being a Black American, which gave me chills:
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9zPRVKQvIM

    Because I have no idea where I came from and because I have no idea where my country is headed.

  • all praises, 5/5 lightning bolts, bravo you inglorious basterd…

    from my lips to god’s ears, this is a saint worthy work…

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