DREAM AMERICANA
(in an office cubicle)

by Cari Oleskewicz

Paper, paper, everywhere.
I've not much time to think.
Piles here and piles there.
It makes me want to drink.

Priorities and long, long lists,
I wonder where it started.
If a fire were to catch,
I'd not be broken-hearted.

It takes my life and robs my soul.
I'd rather be on a boat.
Remembering these days of old
when possessions made me gloat.

I fantasize of leaving this.
Who needs the stress, the drama.
We're told we do, just to live
the Dream Americana.

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