maybe america is one of those guys on suburban street corners in a lady liberty costume waving a sign about taxes and loans who makes minimum wage and has music in his ears to help pass the time
maybe america is an ugly boxer dog poking his head our of the window of a beat-up ford pick-up truck panting
maybe america is an old married couple who watch the same news program over and over again all day in forgetfulness holding each other’s hands approaching god
maybe america is the muffled voice of a fast food drive-thru speakerbox
maybe america is a kidnapped bonsai tree held hostage in a business office
maybe america is john hughes eighties movies where the girl always gets her guy

maybe america is a man in a hospital waking up from a coma after twenty years alone to find dead flowers and having to figure out where am i?
maybe america is noisy caustic manly monster truck commercials frightening little boys with delight
maybe america is a rich woman who leaves her lavish lifestyle to pursue her dream of become a prostitute
maybe america is an oiled-up car mechanic hiding his anti-depression medication from his coworker buddies so they won’t make fun of him
maybe america is late night talk show hosts with their hands in their pockets spewing comedy to insomniacs
maybe america is one of those slow down electronic speed traps that no one pays any mind to

maybe america is a grandmother letting her blonde little granddaughter press the buttons on the elevator
maybe america is a man too fat to walk falling in love with a woman too skinny to function
maybe america is the auctioneer who reads the speedy disclosures at the end of the medicine commercials
maybe america is this week’s host of saturday night live
maybe america is the foreign man who swam across the ocean to fulfill his dreams of opening his own perfume shop
maybe america is the call center employee who writes in his spare time because he’s sick of talking forty hours a week
maybe america is the native american heroes whose names have been erased from history books

maybe america is a scientist conducting experiments on himself and his pet goldfish
maybe america is a teenaged mother reading nursery rhymes to her two kids while she waits patiently in the unemployment line
maybe america is grumpy doctors grumpy patients grumpy clinics where everyone is grumpy
maybe america is the jabbering cocaine white teeth of a politician in career puberty
maybe america is the conversations that never happen between cute girls and mute boys
maybe america is the combat boots stomping in unorthodox rhythm in underground punk rock scenes
maybe america is a textbook that only gets used to ready the marijuana to be smoked
maybe america is santa claus drinking coca-cola with caucasian polar bears
maybe america is mothers who don’t now and have never had any children to breastfeed
maybe america is a hillbilly hanging a shotgun over his door like a star on the top of a christmas tree
maybe america is the crazy man who stalks you at work and asks you unanswerable questions while you’re trying to refold all the disheveled t-shirts
maybe america is a green screen in the bowels of hollywoodland
maybe america is a fatherless child who sacrifices his life because he knows everyone is his family and he just cares too much

maybe america is that lady who sued that one fast food place because they didn’t warn her that her coffee would be hot
maybe america is union workers praying to god for super bowl sunday
maybe america is sugar cereal characters playing poker at a board meeting
maybe america is a cancer patient waiting for the doctor to come back to check in on her but the doctor never does
maybe america is the music on the jukebox at waffle houses at way too late o clock
maybe america is the hips of elvis presley stamped ‘property of the military’
maybe america is the stuffed animal from your childhood that you have tucked away in the attic somewhere
maybe america is the gangrenous arm of an overseas soldier trying to crawl its way back to the homeland
maybe america is prisoners of war tapping on chamber walls desperate for the sound of another human
maybe america is a psychologist psychoanalyzing his patient’s multiple personality disorder
or maybe america is that patient


READ “337”


Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

15 thoughts on “MAYBE AMERICA”

  1. Dang man! U can write. I would like to know more about what feeds your creative fires – your emotional machine and technical process. You bring so many visuals with this piece. I could see them in action. Love the old couple holding hands and the lady letting her grandaughter press the elevator button.

  2. Yes, you’re on to something here! I would have pruned a few, but maybe it’s only because of the typos: “properted of the military”? “arm of an overseas should”? Makes me think you went a little too fast. You’ve got a great memory for goofy moments too.

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