America

The vans, crowded with sleeping

mats and hand fans, as the whole

family zooms to the city, closing

their store for a day, to shove

through the extended queue

of immigration: the children

playing with broken down

action figures, while grandma

hums to the baby; daddy

leaning against the wall,

cold as he waits for the doors

to creak and swing welcoming

to the first day of his life.

 

The heavy slunch of the mop

as it is being carried across

a thinning shoulder towards

the men’s washroom where vomit

needs to be mopped: he is trying

not to add to it as he forces the tiles

shiny once more, and he sees

his image through the puke

in his uniform two sizes too

big, and the small images of his

children playing with iPads

by the side as the floor gets wet

and not from the soap.

——————-

This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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