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
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.
