The American Dream has settled
in the bottom of the basin of
a low-flow toilet somewhere in
White Suburbia and we’re all
up to our ankles in water that
seems clean enough until we
see the stain on the bowl
that hasn’t been scrubbed yet
and we’d try to flush it away
to start fresh but the handle
is just too damn far up the
tank and even if we could there
wouldn’t be enough water to
move this shit down-river
unless we can maybe hit it
a couple dozen times just like
you had to do two Christmases
ago when you ate too much pie
and you didn’t want to make
a terrible mess at your grandma’s
but you couldn’t find the
god damn plunger but oh
it would have been so much
easier if you had.