Our malls scream we sell heaven--cutting edge, as new and
expensive as your last body,
and it’s your turn to try this oasis, spin.
We gamble our souls away like red chips and when we’re drunk
we pawn our love, too, and we never get a good deal
‘cause love is slimy and love ends up between the couch cushions and love
only sells for three dollars and ninety-five cents.
Over-the-counter reads epidemic but prescription reads crisis
and mom, I’m an ambulance carrying something
I feel good I feel good but good costs $5 when okay costs $2,
and feeling sick doesn’t make you money;
you have two eyes and you see the three legged dogs
rummaging, sick and skeletal, in the trash cans.
They have hair like wheat and twigs and their bones are as old as America and
their cheeks are
as new as they can afford.
For a minute, I think I see
someone standing roadside, trying to hitch a ride
Windshield blue flash
tricked my eyes and I look again
into the rearview mirror.
Every gas station has a shallow unblinking light
competing only with those who drive
alone and through all seasons.