American Shrine (a poem)

Traveling through America, in search of the Shrine

you know the one, mister, the place that encapsulates

our nation’s fears, dreams, triumphs + loathing –

some say the shrine is a shopping mall

Mother Church of Consumerism

but you know better

it’s really a place deep in dank woods

guarded by militiamen since our founding

it houses not tomes devoted to freedom

but instead seeds of greed that flourish in fertile soil

step barefoot in its blackness

feel cool, moist dirt of forefathers

bow before the altar – the god of Cash Money

hands out like a pauper

tell none of your pilgrimage here

return to Suburbia + the nuclear family + microwave dinners

but don’t forget Who owns you.

(Photo by albert renn on Unsplash)

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