America (You Are George Zimmerman)

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America (You Are George Zimmerman)

by Samuel Caleb Wee | 7 August 2016



America you are George Zimmerman.
Don’t flinch it’s true. You are the mad rain
of a gated Sanford night. Bleeding through
The exit wound. Ripped open over Iraqi sky.
America, February twenty-sixth nineteen
zero-nine, pelting the pitiful Florida walk,
don’t make me choke on my donut.

America, don’t listen to the radio today.
Paronoid sulk saints are singing punk rock.
Jesus would have gnashed his teeth.
Fuelled by reefer Barry Hussein is a
naked monster. Some sort of sunken-negro
hollow-hooded hijab-wearing moslem-monster.
Preaching on the bones of Madiba
Dumping on the crimes of Osama
Peering through the grotesque windshield he’s
pissing on the ashes of John Henry.
Go get ‘em America. There’s a real suspicious
guy knocking on the globalized doors, fuck ‘em,
they’re late to the party anyway. Anyway
The break-ins in the neighborhood are endemic.
All talk of vigilante justice, but your parents are dead.
Stop pretending to their words America.
They were shot in a dark alleyway coming out
from a Zorro screening for Martha’s pearl necklace.
You have spent two hundred years hunting for Joe Chill.
For chrissakes America. You are vengeance you are the
night yes. There’s red in your ledger though.
Remember the night you got your head stomped
against the gravel of the romp resenting the gleeful
cowboy pavement? Your teeth were biting in.
How did the soil get into your mouth? 

The desert storm lashing against the windows maybe.
Ribbons of dirt and sand. Grains of unmelted glass.
Colliding against their paned smooth brothers.
America why are you outraged? Skittles are delicious.
Remember the calves of Abeer Qassim al-Janabi?
Perched sobbingly on your shoulders?
Her sisters and her mothers?
But of course you were defending yourself.
America the screek creach wail of caving concrete,
Boeing 757s & Emma E. Elementary,
the Pet Goat did some things that made the girl’s dad mad!
But of course you were defending yourself.
Tell me America I have to know.
Is butter a carb? I need to know
before I force-feed a fasting prisoner.
If she opens her mouth she wants it I know.
Don’t deny yourself America you were only
defending yourself. Boo you whore.

America I’m disappointed in you.
I don’t know what I was expecting.
How long will you let me rip off your Allen Ginsbergs
before a drone strike guts me in a video game raid
and a snot-faced-ex-hamster picks off my bones?
America I’m ready to betray my texts and my country,
they took my hair such a long time ago
I have no shame anymore. After all you
have already colonized my mind. So
come on America come at me now.
I will put my hood up in the rain and shuffle away
as the United Nations holler through the phone
don’t do that, America, don’t do that. 

But America the pistol is in your hand.
In the heat of the scuffle the pistol is in your hand.
Through my ribs and my bones the pistol in your hand.
As we kneel at the cock of the second amendment
sucking down the tip of your phallocentrism
spurting down the barrel coming hard for freedom
the pistol the pistol the pistol in your hand, shush shush shush
America Wazowski screams boo! No one is crying. 

Snowden still plays coy.
In a Moscow liminality
the fags are stripped and mad.
What do we do, America,
what do we do?
It stuns me into madness
oh please don’t go.
Tuck me safe into my grave again
with your arms America.
Turn the nightlight out. 

but I shall tail you to the kitchen.
& I shall watch you sob again.
From the shadows as you choke.
From the choke you sob again.
With the metal in your mouth.
And the trigger at your teeth.
From the shadows as I watch.
Wide-eyed shake you sob again. 

Oh fuck me I can’t do it. 

America you’re eating yourself out.
Stand your ground America.
Stand your ground.


America (You Are George Zimmerman) was first published by Kitaab in 2016.
Cover photo by IoSonoUnaFotoCamera (CC BY-SA 2.0)