I do not hear American singing, only lonely cries I hear,
Those of the retiree, forced to work as a cashier at Home Depot, not as it should be,
exhausted and demeaned,
The small business owner crying as he closes his front office door forever,
The middle-aged father crying as he makes ready his resume, one of thousands of unemployed,
The young family crying about a home that now belongs to the bank, the mother crying as she works two jobs, works two jobs,
The single girl crying as she sits alone on Friday night, that girl crying because the Social Network has taken the socializing out of life,
The professor’s cries, the teacher’s as their students arrive dressed in apathy, spend the hour complaining about hard work, and leave their learning on their desks like unwanted trash.
The terrible crying of the corporations, or of the manufacturers, sending jobs overseas where ludicrous governmental restrictions don’t hinder the American dream,
No one singing what belongs to him or her and to no one else,
The days belonging to a selfish and lazy culture–at night, the solitude of older fellows, beaten and exhausted,
Crying with reddened eyes their sad melancholic cries.
(*inspired by Walt Whitman’s I Hear America Singing. Read that poem here.)
