American Morning

The morning of the 5^th 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

revelry.

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 5^th. 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.