Born in the USA

Posted on Jul 5, 2014

Outside where people smoke, occasional fourth of July flowers in the sky,
dude comes up like he knows me, slaps my hand, “my n*igga, I got you,

I got you n*gga.” He is wearing a shirt that says USA in red
white and blue stars “you want a bump, let’s do it, right here,

just a bump,” not my thing, “just a bump, c’mon, let me get
your keys, need your keys, it’s on me, n*gga,” not my thing.

We go on like that for some time, until his friend comes up
and they mess around with the little plastic bag and talk fast

at each other, and look happy in an aggressive way, like
they’re gonna fucking be happy motherfucker give me your keys

I excuse myself. A woman with strong hands tells me she is a massage therapist
and rubs my back and tells me her name and it is a memorable one

and she says “you’ll remember it” and melts into the buzzing crowd
I will remember it, I think, Hello, Hi, Good to see you, Good to see you

and inside now the band is loud in a vertigo way, pulse bursts of disorientation
for little moments the floor and the walls jump like a drug thing

but not a drug thing, the air feels like sweat, like it’s the air that
is sweating. The band is sweating the people are sweating the stage lights

are blue. Outside again, rockets, like war torn news clip bomb sounds
except colors and smiles and dancing in the streets, born in the USA.

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