another poem about america
america’s one of those places where enough is fixed
or at least held together with
masking tape and bubblegum
that you feel a little guilty asking for change
my mom didn’t want to move back to america
after long successful years spent forgetting
what therapy would reteach eventually
after some major pillars —
a marriage, a child, a botched eye surgery
almost a divorce
she came back bittersweet to get mental health
help for my dad
i wonder sometimes if she resents him
he was able to see so many doctors here
i remember them, when i was four
and america was therapist waiting rooms
with fish tanks and table toys
made with sand
and to mom and dad america was bill after bill
as they got angrier and angrier at each other
america is always hospitals telling you
to get better but not how
then sending you a big bill
dad’s here on a greencard
america is testing your americanness
but they still give him money because we’re that broke
but mom says if she ever starts making
a little more money they’ll stop paying
dad’s medical bills and then we’ll be fucked
america is sort of inhabiting the border of insecurity
unless you’re some combination of
rich white cis het male capitalist
i guess it’s good that america has so much
in terms of scientific progress and awareness
but i still remember in high school when
this boy kept making ‘schizo’ jokes
and it was the second time i wanted
to punch someone
the first being when everyone
treated my friend like shit
like she was invisible
after a boy in my class raped her
america is claiming one thing
and practicing another
it’s illusions of capitalist grandeur
that send you shattered to the hospital
in a suicidal crisis
or make you clam up inside
because america gives and takes so much
and you never know what it’ll take next
i feel like i’ve given it everything
and now like ginsberg i’m nothing
because for all its hospitals
america’s not a doctor you can trust
it’s a greedy lasik surgeon
progressive in all the inhuman ways
and wanting only your money
