foolish child,
america sips her wine
some destroyers capsize
out of vanity.
i have no more bravery
for this couplet,
perhaps tears but they occur
every four years.
america,
a wicker rome
on her deathbed
ration the ash,
flame is fire without lust.
foolish child,
swallow your pills
freedom in your pocket
enough of the blade, cotton candy emotions,
her northern star, the dixie hangover.
american
a fall to captivate
the cynics
in the modern age,
we are all entertainers.
foolish frost,
you’re never gonna make it
ration your chance
before they get sick of yankee
prestige.
my sister, save your breath
the confetti won’t last forever.
america spreads her wings to mercurial ovation
all the tin soldiers
couldn't remove your makeup
some scars linger.
strike a match, lean against the bend
america, it’s darker at night
but i guess that’s everywhere.
Evan Anders brews coffee for mass consumption in Philadelphia. His poems have appeared in Philadelphia Stories, California Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, and Third Point Press. He changes diapers and thinks Bob Dylan was best in the eighties.