It hit me, this profound sadness,
during the high school “Spirit Assembly”:
the drums ringing forth,
evoking the grandeur of Rome,
the banners, the anthem, the Pledge.
American pride. 

And after —
the balloons that littered the halls, 
the torn streamers and ripped signage.
The dance that night,
bright lights and deafening music,
expensive dresses, glittering heels. 

Lunch the next day,
three bottles of Portuguese red wine,
two platters of calamari,
passion fruit mousse. 

Bread and circuses, 
four hundred eighty dollars of emptiness. 
TV ads, fur coats and expensive watches,
American politics. Americana. Your
boasting voice blaring in my ears. 

All these things while someone starves
worlds away, and another freezes
in an alleyway just outside,
and the world cries and begins to die. 
My sadness grew and grew,
but there was nothing I could do.
And I knew from listening
that it meant next to nothing to you.