Automatic

The water separates then runs together
in the cracks in the floor.
America is the kind of drunk
that would stab himself
between the ribs
just to prove
he doesn’t give a fuck.

Sunny days are wasted one right
after the other, and they expect
it at their desks with their jet black
daily planners, that keep the dates
for all their meetings with each other.
With her hair tied back she bangs on
the doors with her fists until they
split open, like insects under rocks.

Tanks of sugar water slosh around in
the background of their daily lives,
and are carted everywhere just outside
the peripheral. Unpleasant people
bother you even when you aren’t their
specific target. It’s like there’s something
flaking off of them over time.

Men with long knives won’t let them
bury their dead, but don’t care if they
watch the bodies bulldozed into pre-dug
holes the size of houses, but built in the
opposite direction.
The local shopping centers borrow each
others coins when they can’t make change.
The fountain between them all is empty too.

Maybe one day all the people will
come back; they think at night when
they walk to their cars. When you make
what they pay you there’s no choice but
to tame your thoughts of the future, and
no matter how hard you work
the lights turn off automatically.