POETRY

[Jesus Can Not Save]

Natalie Riley

Thoughts. Simon and Garfunkel. America. …. Jesus can not save us now when I am looking at America. Inglourious. Saran wrapped. Parasitic. Where we live for the dime, worship emails, and preach crypto. When the nine to five gnaw trenches into your average Joe, economic silos are a game of who knows how to talk in hundreds or millions.

Whispers “Jackson, Grant, Franklin, can you hear me now?” What good are morals if tithing serves penance for corruption? It's just another sad story on the television. And so the doctors prescribe Lexapro; Green. Sewage. Reek. We devour and engorge. Toothpicks scraping the crud off our white smile. Why so chipper when our children dance to the thumping of hungry bellies?

I am looking for America. Bent with hands clasped, pressed against forehead What is the difference between praying or simple frustration? High-class, clean-faced pinup dolls plastered on editorial campaigns. Yes perfection, conniving—calculated, but at least it is something to believe in. I am looking backward America. I am looking to Childhood America. To the kid whose parents don’t speak American. Tiny. Sweaty. Palms. Ripped from weathered hands. Cheers to childhood. Frozen. Lost. Time.

So toss me a cigarette America. This feels bizarre America. In my all American ford, America. All gas no breaks, Jesus take the wheel. No one is safe in America.

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