we’re not ready to let go

and enjoy the show

and watch the player piano

with dancing ghosts

raising toasts to machines

and green screens

and Mean Joe Green

pass me a bottle

or a box of wine

hurry up and dine

feeling strangely fine

until they print the obit

we were too legit to quit

could have wrote another hit

should have won with all that wit

might have stood, preferred to sit

now we wait on marble rye

broken dreams too young to die

pretend that we’re too tough to cry

but the tears fall

and the years crawl

and the beers call

and fears all that’s left

and here we are, bereft

and it wasn’t a dream

but a Ponzi scheme

we’re cheering for

the losing team

its coffee black,

we’re out of cream

things are seldom

what they seem.



















About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
This entry was posted in american dream, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.