Tag: poetry (Page 9 of 9)

Maybe I shoulda been a doctor.

Studied hard, and
Done the reading.
Pretty wife and
Children with tutors.

Worn my scrubs, and
Bright-red Reeboks
To the deli, and
Paid in cash.

Maybe I coulda been a lawyer.

Tier two school, and
Married in my study group.
Carried my birthday briefcase, and
Knotted my Father’s Day tie.

I could object, and
Buck for promotion.
Play a little golf, and
Have my calls held.

What about a long-haul trucker?

Crank the speed up, and
Fuck that highway ’til the log book cries.
They’re thirsty in Atlanta, and
There’s beer in Texarkana.

Bed down in the back, and
Praise Christ in a trailer.
Eighteen gears up, and
Roll them back down.

Always work for a short-order cook.

Burn the birdies, and
86 the fish, ladies.
Scrape down the grill, and
Drain off the fat traps.

Watch the world through the cut-out, and
When the order was up,
I’d ding the bell, and
I’d never think about those eggs again.

The Grateful Dead is an American band,
As American as apple pie.

Patriotic as a mid-afternoon hanging.
What else did we build the town square for?

The lynch mob sang Terrapin Station as
They got what they paid for.
T-shirts were sold in the lot,
And everyone cheered true democracy.

The Grateful Dead is an American truth,
Like a shotgun being racked behind a closed door;
Like two-for-one Marlboros at the pharmacy;
Like traffic on the 101.
Like the Bowls, Super and Dust;
Like a protestor getting the hose for her own good;
Like the freedom to root for any team you want.

The Grateful Dead is an American band,
As American as a Hiroshima sunrise.