Friday, July 5, 2013

American Morning

The morning of the 5th of July
is ridiculous.
Sulfur odors still linger
in the air and the rising
sun shows the scorched
Earth left behind.

Garbage cans are ripe with
the spent shell casings and
firework caskets of American

No over-sugared cup of
coffee can replace the
bitter taste of a work
day morning after
a Thursday holiday.

The silence after such
an explosive night echoes
the cruelty of a life in a
cubicle. No American dream
being fulfilled in the trenches
of the American worker bee
life. No matter how much
we, “Ooh-ed” and “Ahhh-ed”,
at the bombs bursting in air.

There’s no Friday morning
liberation from the tyranny
of the corporate machinery
that provides us with the meager
scraps of mediocrity to
survive on.

It’s greatness we yearn for
on July the 5th. Something to
impress our founders with, as
if to say, look what your fight
for liberty has wrought. Yet,
I sit, in a cube, in the silence
of a nearly abandoned office
clacking away at a keyboard
on another American morning.  

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