I Saw America

a poem

(Note: I will not make it a point to share my poetry with you via email because I know it may not be your flavor of writing, however, I do have an entire section of new poems here on Substack.)

I saw America 

America, I have been meaning to write to you.

I have kept myself from saying these things, America,

Because, well, you’re not so good at taking constructive criticism.

A short video, with pop music and subtitles titled, “When you’ve gone insane but its Friday…” would get more views,

But TicTok makes me sick, America, so this poem will have to do.

America, you made me a critical optimist, a veteran, a statistic.

America, if it numbs you, it’s not medicine. What truly saves us, is to be seen.

I saw America in the apple blossoms of a young Virginia spring.

I saw America from the back of a creeping steel centipede,

long slow miles on rusted tracks through the sun burnt fields of Kansas,

I saw America.

I saw America sharpening the cynical and serrated edge of shame, preparing to amputate its own flailing extremities for lacking the value of its center – its sense of reason, its interconnected life sustaining systems. Both hands cutting away at the other. Both hands taxing the beating heart.

I saw America through a bug stained windshield, billboards zipping by advertising every kind of attorney for every kind of lawsuit for every kind of quick easy payday.

I saw America on the news, in flames, divided and frothing at the mouth.

I saw America with my own eyes, shook its hands, smiled at its generous faces speaking love with their eyes through a light haze of fear.

I saw America hiding beneath a school desk where they learned too soon the politics of gender. I heard America stalking through the halls. I heard the brass clank against white tile laid by the lowest bidder. I heard the cries, the outrage, the tearing sound a family makes when death occurs in the wrong order.

I saw America buying up all the plastic bottles of water then throwing the plastic into its rivers, its lakes, until the only water safe enough to drink came from a bottle. I saw America.

I saw America on Main Street, in a sup’d up, cherry red V8, all gas, no breaks. I saw America moving so fast and so straight until it was too late. I saw America.

I saw America in little town squares where bronze statues glorified war under the snap of her bloody red and white flag. America refurbished old cannons and inscribed them with shiny young names, while her future rusts in the rain.

I saw America across the great lawn before a White House. I smelled the food trucks and paid nine dollars for an ice cream cone made from gelatin, guar gum, and carrageenan. I felt América dripping down my arm. I saw America there on that summer green lawn, brown and white and black and Hindu and Christian and fearful and confused and taking in the spring sun while throwing frisbees, and seeking asylum from chaos and rape and war. I saw America riding bikes and jogging shirtless trying to lose the weight put on during COVID because America had been consuming fear 24 hours a day for a year, America hid in their home and ate things made out of gelatin, guar gum, and carrageenan to feel less afraid for a moment, but the moment didn’t last because the moment never lasts, except in our memories and even then it is a lie, a fabrication of how we wanted things to be, golden, like the afternoon I saw America.

I saw America, the floor is lava.

I saw America on Saturday mornings, racing around the sofa with a bowl of cereal to beat the commercial. I saw America, the commercial for war toys sold to boys watching cartoons about the real American hero, war.

I heard America in a Nashville honky tonk playing our favorite songs about guns and trucks and beer. I tapped my foot on the hardwood floor to the simple rhythm of America. The beer was good.

I saw America from beneath its southern border, talking with its mouth full of pizza and tacos and sushi, using words like invasion and illegal, while rubbing its own fat immigrant belly.

I saw the fanged north eastern shores biting into the cold, deep emerald Atlantic

along the cliffs where fat lobsters lived in sprawling white houses set upon well manicured lawns. I saw America call the cops on itself for smoking weed too close to their own rich and perfect air.

I saw América on front porches, peeling paint, vacant rocking chairs.

I saw América In row on row of brownstones, ice cracked stoops occupied by no one, where once the youth of America sat saying nothing but, “ah man.” And “sure is hot.”

I saw América blinded by its unwillingness to step outside itself.

I saw America in an Arlington diner, shoulders hunched forward, tired feet, double shift shuffling toward another free refill. I heard small problems given gasoline by the unbound ego. I heard the sound of gossip grenades dropping and amputees begging for dignity.

I saw America making out with itself behind the woodshed, telling itself everything it wanted to hear, its gropey hands grabbing what it pleased. “No America, stop! Not like this.”

I heard America struggle, weeping, clawing at its own face. I saw that face the next morning, scarred and smiling on the news, in a three piece suit telling itself what it wants to hear.

I saw America on a riding lawnmower, wind in its thinning hair, humming victory laps from a rusted John Deere.

I saw América confused yet profiting, a black man selling confederate flags on a street corner of a northern state. I saw that hate made a buck. I saw a lifted truck with a rainbow sticker. I saw it here, in America.

I saw America in the flaming bud of a spring tulip.

I saw America’s fat arm reaching for another helping, another styrofoam container filled with meat product and enriched flour bun. I heard America shaming itself for its own grotesque behavior and I did not wonder if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I saw America raining. Silver sheets cleansing a dancing field of golden corn.

I saw America carry the kernels in a leather pouch, sharing the process of planting. I saw America grow and prosper, fueling the processing corn. Subsidizing corn for syrup, for the sweet opiate of the growing masses.

I saw America turn on those who spoke the words America needed to hear.

I heard America demanding equality, the equality of outcome. I said, “America, that’s not who we are. We are free.” The scowling eyes of America saw me, unaware or unconcerned that all things ending equally is the end of freedom.

And though she isn’t perfect,

I loved her

the moment I opened my eyes and heart

and saw America.

With much love and respect,

leo jenkins

MORE OF MY POETRY CAN BE FOUND HERE

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash