Poem of the Day 01.30.23

american cupcakes

we eat
canned corn

and cupcakes colored
with the american flag

and i have been in this line
longer than it took me
to pick out my groceries

the cashier is a trainee
with unruly hair
and the touch of a moustache

he’s seventeen and thinks he’s funny

he’s so funny
he can’t ring up a head of lettuce
or a bag of chips
without telling a joke

america must always suffer
the indignity of funny men

i look at him

he is like the slowly rotting meat
in my cart

warm
and purple
and dull

one day he’ll probably be the manager here

he tells another bad joke

i think of walking away
and leaving all of the groceries

but there is nothing in my home
except cold vodka and stale popcorn

it is too hot today
to willingly starve

and i’m not in the mood for protest

so i stand there and sweat
as no one but the cashier laughs

looking at another week’s worth of food
splayed out on the counter

bought to feed another week
of this ceaseless horseshit

looking at the american cupcakes
wrapped in non-biodegradable plastic

that the cashier
casually crushes
with a case of warm soda

with the same jokey manner
and nonchalant ease

that he has used to crush
this afternoon

and all of our souls.



06.21.22