Wyatt Carrick

America Sings

I hear America sing. I hear the workers grunt: their old bodies far past their threshold. I hear the students sigh, as they budget to pay loans in search of eluding American dreams. I hear antidepressents shake in their bottles, as America tilts back to alleviate the pain. I hear wallets flip open and shut, faster than the money in it is printed. I hear homeless beg on curbs, as men in ties walk hastily by. The change in his cup rattles, but never a deep enough rattle to feed his stomach. And I wonder, where is their American dream? I hear the shuffle of paper, as parents struggle to keep family afloat, An economy that crumbles beneath unfairness and inequality, And I hear their children jump and yell, before their minds are burdened with cares. I hear a nation struggling to keep above the surface, And I hear a man in an oval office, promising it will all be okay. At one point, Americas song must have been hopeful and reassured, But now I only hear broken voices.