Dear Dirty America

(re-printed from The Birth of Road Rage — find the book here)

I could have been a self-made man. I could have sat on a horse in a canyon breathing fire. I could have been a circus geek or a high-wire man. I could have married the bearded lady and raised an assortment of children — two boys, half a girl.

I could have been a team player with a strange middle name. I could have been a man who whistles like birds. I could have re-invented the wheel, come up with a box top that springs open in response to a smile. I could have been something more aesthetically pleasing.

***

I was born in a land of great promise. A place where opportunity knocks all night long, fills your sleep, shreds your dreams, breaks your door down. I live in a land of milk and honey and mud wrestlers.

I could have been a contender. I could have joined a gang or the army or a frat club. I could have joined a lynch mob or the church or a road gang. I could have sung high-C in a glee club of lepers. I could have done yoga.

I could have joined the CIA, the DEA, the Contras, the Actors Guild. I could have bought a plane and dropped food on the hungry. I could have beat the truth out of infidels. I could have been a funeral director.

Actors on a three-tiered stage, we hydroplane thru life.

Find John Bennett’s novels, short stories, and shards at Hcolom Press. You can contact him, or get on his Shards list at: dasleben@fairpoint.net

SEE ALSO

Smoke gets in your eyes 

It’s a Cyrano de Bergerac world

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