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I wrote this two years ago after the 2002 midterm elections. Here we are again now. Enjoy.
To America On The First Wednesday In November by The Plaid Adder
Thinking of you, America, I backed over the pumpkins that my lover and I Had carved the week before And moved closer to the driveway So that the neighbors could see them.
The broken flesh shocked me, Too soft, exposed, matted with stiffening yellow hair.
I tossed the rinds out, Thinking of you, America, And got into the car, Because I must teach the children of the rich, Because my lover must defend another union From another trumped-up lawsuit;
And because you are his now, And because it is raining And the pumpkins are rotting at the bottom Of the garbage can we bought at K-Mart, And because Walt Whitman is dead, And because Allen Ginsberg was always mad anyhow, And because I need a last refuge too, I am writing this
I cannot abandon you; You are my father The decent man Who does not get it; You are my mother Who held hands with Jesse Jackson in 1960 And voted for Ronald Reagan in 1980 You are my brother Captive at the altar of Mammon Who will never understand That he is the sacrifice You are my sister Finally learning To think for herself At the age of thirty-one And I would say you have betrayed me for the last time But it will happen again
No, we will not abandon you, For though we see you putting on Your nylon stockings and your 3-inch heels Though we see the mascara on your lashes And the lacquer on your nails Though we spot the cover of Cosmo Peeking out of your imitation Burberry bag, We know, We just know, That you have potential
No, you are not the first woman To go willingly to the bed of a rich man Who in no way deserves you Thinking, I do not love him, But I need his protection
No, nor will you be the first woman Years from now, to sit On the toilet in a McDonald's restroom With your head in your hands Thinking, I do not want this marriage, My children have the wrong father, And that Happy Meal is not sitting right And to cast your despairing eyes Up to the stall door And a piece of lavender paper Printed with a phone number And the words we recruit
And when it is bad enough, And you are tired Of denying the almost-half of you That is not satisfied, You will come to us, And for a while, There will be great rejoicing.
And you will betray us again, As soon as things get better, As soon as he comes back to you With a diamond ring And the keys to a new house, And tells you that he has changed, He has learned, he understands your needs, Besides, he has had a promotion and a raise And the house is in a good neighborhood With an excellent school system.
But we will get up again, As we do now, And I will teach the daughters of the rich To call their bodies their own; And my lover will force one more employer To pay his workers' pensions, And no matter what you do to us, America, She will be beautiful and good, And I will love her, And in two years, on the first Tuesday in November, We will go back to the elementary school gym, And pick up that tiny dagger And plunge it Straight through the heart Of the chad.
The End.
@#$!,
The Plaid Adder
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