American Poem

From November, 2021. Revised.

If you are writing
an American poem, insert
a nature image here.

Purple those
mountains up, like a god,
then chew

that scenery
until there’s nothing left
to suck from it.

American poems
should contains a rigged dance
of myth and cynicism

in which we 
step on
each others’ toes

then apologize nonstop until
the pain becomes so strong
we cannot help but lash out.

Every true American poem
should hold a throng
of exuberant ghosts

and babies, crying, screaming,
playing; doing just what
they have always done.

Some say not the babies,
please. Leave the babies out of it,
they are precious

and innocent. Buffalo shit,
you say; inside this poem it’s
the Fourth of July,

which
was built on
dead children.  

In every great American poem
should be an America over half
of its readers do not recognize.

Check the mirror. There you are.
Still cheering, still writing,
but only backwards.

A good mirror
shows you your other side.
A better one shows you more than one.

This is an American poem
and if it’s any good
it’s chafing you

like the dish on the table
with the turkey
and all those sides

while the purple mountains
stand above it all
watching us and wondering

where they went wrong
that this is how it feels now
to write an American poem.