Summer Hill

Someone stop this ride and let me off. It's making me sick.

here, atop summer hill

waiting for the kill

crows squawk outside my window like old ladies forced to wear tight, black leather and sit on the back at a sturgis, motorcycle rally

so many people, so much debt and pollution that few if any have the time or patience to keep a running tally

clouds puff out their chests, gathering like lint in belly buttons and between toes

down below, the brown, filthy river meanders passed squalid apartment houses

where someone rolled an old table down the embankment into it

the native americans called it pompositticut or land of many hills

thank you america

thanks for the thrill

time for me to drink some more booze

and pop another pill

waiting for the kill

for the night to be still

as i lean on my dirty, peeling window sill

peering out, come what may, come what will

here, atop lovely, lonely, once pristine, summer hill

Author's Note

A'merica is said to be the arena on which the battle of freedom is to be fought; but surely it cannot be freedom in a merely political sense that is meant. Even if we grant that the American has freed himself from a political tyrant, he is still the slave of an economical and moral tyrant." - Thoreau

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Powerful work. All too relatable.