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the big mac i'd bitten into all of a sudden turned cold
as a jaywalker was run over
by one of our new york greyhound services
and my arms were locked by a streetwalker with sad eyes
. . . what has happened to you, america, my dreams?
your french wines sell cheap in plastic bags
that grown-up children take along to their parents
living derelict in mad houses, condos or god's own country
what has happened to you, america, my youth?
my chicago streets, your bloody napkins
my sodden shirts, your stale hamburgers and rye whisky
what has happened to you, america, my love?
playing cowboy around the world
and sleeping with james bond like soho
my new york muggers, your affirmative action plan
our derelict asians buying cheap airline tickets
to enter you en masse
as if group sex is any less free of illusions . . .
what has happened to you, america, my dreams?
in your new york derelict, cold chilli oil
china town and prawn champagne
I’m crying america, are you?