Parker Dean Smith
Untitled
America,
I was born at midnight
Sick and slick with blood
Underweight and underdeveloped.
I came to you already in flux,
On the edge of life and death.
My incubator might’ve become my casket.
(A lot of things make good caskets here, have you noticed?
The seats in the back of a cop car,
The asphalt on most roads,
Hospitals and emergency waiting rooms.
Everything can become a casket,
A grave if you think big enough)
America,
When I was young, we went hungry.
I would open the pantry doors,
Consider the breadcrumbs,
Consider the three-quarters finished jar of mayo,
Consider the last square of chocolate,
Close the pantry doors.
My stomach growls.
Like there’s a tiny, hungry animal inside of me.
I realize that I am the tiny, hungry animal inside of me.
(There are a lot of hungry animals here, have you noticed?
The mother who doesn’t have enough food stamps,
The three children, slack-faced in the car,
The man on the street corner with the sign
‘God bless America. God bless You.’
Everyone is so hungry. Hungry for food.
Drowned out by the voices of the animals
Who are hungry for power, for money.
Always drowned out.)
America,
I reject the idea that time equals money
Time is infinitely more valuable
And I can’t spend it all on you anymore.
I can’t spend all my money on you anymore.
I can’t spend all of myself on you anymore.
America,
I reject the idea that money
Is more valuable than a human life,
The lives of people who don’t wear
Your stars and stripes
The lives of people who say
Fuck stars. Fuck stripes.
Fuck every damn flag you wave.
Fuck every trophy.
Fuck every bullet-riddled hero.
Fuck your heritage.
Fuck every inch of the land you’ve stolen.
America,
I am tired and begging you
For a crumb of change.
I am tired and begging you
For a smidge of a chance.
I am tired and begging you
To open your eyes
To listen
To understand.
But I think you do open your eyes
You do listen
You do understand
And yet, I still hear the chanting.
Three words I cannot believe are true
I cannot believe are believed in
Four more years!
Fake news, right? That’s what we’re calling it now?
Fake? If it’s fake, then why are you screaming it?
If it’s fake, then why does hurt to hear it?
If it’s fake, if it’s not a big deal, if I should just get over it
Then why do you keep saying it? Why is the man
On the street corner still wearing that red hat?
Why is the man on the street corner still waving
That sign that says his name and twenty-twenty in
Big, bold, black letters? Why does he keep shouting it?
Isn’t it over now? Isn’t the change supposed to come?
America,
You see it, right?
You hear it, right?
You know it, don’t you?
America,
I used to believe there was hope for us.