Kool-Aid Americana (Happy Thanksgiving)

Look at the stars under old glory skies
They belong to me, they belong to you, Christian Muslim, Hindu, Jew
Buddhist and Zen, all races of men, all creeds, all beliefs
A constellation of love,
maps the chart to your heart,
spang – bang the night
with poetic dust
and the breath of the dead
False gods hang on racks in Wal-Mart and Costco ,
Bikini dreams – 56 inches on a plasma screen
They make war with cupid,
And use gun powder sex
In church motels
To destroy your sun kissed copulation
That thrill, that high
When you buy
When you buy
Can you hear little Chiquita cry?
It’s bullets and jello
Boxed up insanity
And multi-vitamins
Your life –
Scripted on a paper towel
The trees are screaming
The oceans are bleeding
Police attack water protestors
State suppressors –
Call up the freedom lovers
Through the cracks I see
Blood purple flowers
Beware the shifty gov’t eye
Knows what you eat
And where you sleep
The keys to the kingdom
Handed to the great white shark
Old shuffle butt war sloths
Need fresh young blood
To pimp the pentagon
Yabadabadoo!
Find a deal
on e bay you can
Sell your virginity, rock candy
or a lock of Elvis’s hair,
William Shatner’s kidney stone
And a cornflake shaped like Illinois
It’s a star spangled orgy
of ultra brite greed where
gold rush bling bling
Meets food stamp democracy.

Saira Viola
Illustration: Joey Feldman