out driving today i saw this beautiful girl with
feet on passenger side dash, straight black hair to her shoulders,
delicate little nose and high eyebrows, slight pout to the lower lip,
staring straight ahead and seeing nothing- just wanted to love her
because she is america, with machinery wrapped all round her and the
miles and hours passing by, the driver not talking just going with no
regard for the scenery, america the core of beauty but consumed by her
own disinterest, just want to love her, give her a shake and say look
damnit or you'll miss it all, the world beyond the billboards and
radio consumer culture and do you even know the driver beyond the
recognition of a face? america, c'mon baby, just gimme your hand and i
promise you tears and joys, real emotions and images not the lie of
neon light's glare on the dirty windshield;
america,
love you,
please come home
and all'll be forgiven
even the prostitution of my vote
(not your fault dearheart
you had to eat)
america
Jacob Johanson has been published here and there throughout the small press. He is terrible at writing about himself in the third person, which he finds hilariously ironic. Somewhere along the way he became the literary editor for Off Beat Plup, on online arts and lit zine (www.offbeatpulp.com).