The american dreamers are all having nightmares
or else sleep blind, blind as they live, stumble from day to day
content in their weekend living
satisfied with the veneer of things over their empty lives
like so much cheap basement panneling.
They’re trading in their beemers for bus fare
dowsized right off the ladder
selecting their wines from the finest of dumpsters
and plotting hostile takeovers of yesterday’s leftovers
and yet dreaming, or waking now? who can say
who can say
what thoughts are real and what are not
Are they dreaming of picket fences, of the two-point-five kids
the dog, the mortgage, the mazy-race, the high-fat fast living
the heart attack at 45, the fancy funeral
or
Do the american dreamers have nightmares of the hard streets
and wake, relieved that the night, the cold
the knife-sharp alleyways can be hidden
one more week, one more paycheck?
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