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Hard Working American
by Gabriela Anaya Valdepeña

Why did the chicken cross the road?
            To steal a job from a decent hard-working American.
 
I don’t picture you
            up at five
     sun shinning
            in your cerulean eyes
     picking bananas
            all shades of yellow.
 
I don’t picture you
            in designer overalls
     laughing
            as you sweat
     while dirt paints
            your acrylic nails.
 
I don’t imagine
            you thank God
                        for rain.
 
I don’t’ see you
            sharing grapes
                        with strangers,
 
or song
            a cappella
                        under the moon.
 
I dream you alone
            sipping iced cognac
                        on cold marble,
 
looking out onto
            a sea of vanity.
 
                                          

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