JK Fowler

Faulty beams of fluorescent light

Shine upon the moonbeam corporations

And the red lights of braking commuters

Burn through the dark entrails

Of the never-ending freeway.

Walmarts, In and Outs, Applebees,

Valeros and Shells and I sit,

Encased in a mean, lean Greyhound machine,

The squealing of its worn brakes

Lulls me to sleep on my rock-hard pillow

Of evergreen freshness.

We who travel at the hour at which I travel

Are lost souls bent on making one long journey

To a hopeful tomorrow.

People get lost on nights like this:

Insomnious circumlocutory time.

And through the haze we realize we

Have had one bag of Doritos too many.

This land wears its people

Like a rag-tag mish-mash

Of hopes and dreams unrealized

And one promise too many.

People are the products of this society—

The seedy underbelly clinging to a bloated beast

The grunge upon our streets

Within their hair

And a tread mark riding on every hip,

How dare the top marshals sing

That we be the land of the brave

And the free

Whilst so many are encumbered by

Their very un-freedom in the face of

Economics.