Each American born again with blood thirsty straws sucking up insecurities and flaws, talons searching
through cosmetic kits, hanging drunken moments on refrigerators with bi-polar magnets,
consumed because we are large targets for advertising bullets.
Fleeing and uprooting, to escape the poverty and the shooting, only to continue assimilating
into the intimidating dream of white picket fences and second chances.
Test driving the thought of autonomously surviving, but always returning.
Failing grades set off intellectual grenades, money falls from trees into the pockets of churches and
Imaginary beings that can’t use the denominations are small fractions of the rich American populations.
One test to suggest intelligence will settle the rest for the upper part, the pinnacle of this crest.
Ripping hearts from poor chests, coughing and waiting for kidneys, for livers, for the day when they
won’t be considered underachievers any longer.
To try is to fail, to do well is to succeed, winning the prize of owning a minivan and getting to breed,
go further future leaders and lead!
Ignore those that were left at the starting line that complain and whine,
bleeding-hearted liberals as we are, pooling resources together, but never making it very far.
Conservative ass-bending politics are an origami of gimmicks.
I will treat you as I would like to be treated,
but if you disagree, then I won’t get two shakes from the money tree.
Amanda Reagan is a 27 year old poet living in Shaftsbury, Vermont. She works at a local factory in a time when people can’t believe that there are still factories, and that they don’t all look like the bowels of hell. Although she was born, and raised in Vermont, she still has all of her teeth.