Factory Called America
You don't think you owe me
Well I contend you do
On my desk, I expect a bouquet of roses
I worked thru most my childhood
Paying my playground dues
‘Cause the factory called America never closes
Insufferable agony
Is an overrated trend
I don’t trust anything that relies on poses
It’s come too close to my family
It’s stricken my very last friend
While the factory called America never closes
It disarmed us into sympathy
Made us watch a little too near
Pulled the landscape right from under our noses
And stole four out of five senses --
The whistle I still hear
Of the factory called America that never closes
We share a hospital room,
Divided by two sheer curtains
What God would have concealed, the Market exposes
No, I don’t pray to no doctor
Not with all these nurses
To work a factory called America that never closes
I see my father over there
Succumbed to a Swedish catalog chair,
Nearly choking from his fitful dozes
If aging is the National Work Zone,
It’s wonder we come anywhere
Near a factory called America that never closes
Some punch the card
Some punch their spouse
Some punch below the belt
But that’s expected
There’s just two paths
In this woeful house
To the left it says, “Approved”
To the right, “Rejected”
Everyone choose a weapon
The selection’s pretty hot
We got everything from geriatric purses
to firemen's hoses
Made by way of China
Shipped straight to the parking lot
Of the factory called America which never closes
Oh no, still in the Garden
We've hardly budged an inch
We're barely past the part about Sinai and Moses
In time, the clay will harden
And Judgment, a sure cinch
Till then, the factory called America never closes
No, the factory called America
never closes.
Copyright © Keith Dovoric | Year Posted 2022
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