"The Cost Of A Dream Is $7.25"
How many people were told
"When you grow up, you can do anything?"
How many of you
In your 6 year old glory,
in all of your skinned knees glisten
and Barbie doll hair shine
and hours and hours of sunny summer days
believed it?
Who of you tracked the trails of satellites
like you were already in the stars,
floating boldly among space
stuffing moonbeams in your pockets
whistling "Houston I'm so full";
who dodged between meteors
and shooting stars,
bouncing cardboard boxes
the USS-Whatever blazed into the side
with every color of crayon
you could wrap your hands around,
to spin in a chair to fall
like a shuttle on re-entry
to a ticker-tape parade of
you own laughter.
You who turned patios into stages
with stereos blaring your favorite song
while your dog stared on
in wide eyed wonder
of this pop star of the suburbs,
this rock and roller of rakes
screeching off-pitched choirs
till neighbors drummed
on the side of their houses,
"you're making my ears bleed"
only sounded to you
like the roar of the crowd,
with a high kick and a
"Thank you, New York City!"
onto an encore of
the exact same song.
Or how many of us have
dabbed face clothes on our foreheads
as out stuffed animals lay bleeding
poly- blend stuffing
onto living room rugs
and our hands as sure as sutures
and eyes as sharp as scalpels
patient, oh so patient
over our patient precious
a teddy or dolly so trusting
in someone so young;
knowing how to heal
with stolen bandages
and kisses like from our mothers lips.
How many of us believed
"you can be anything"
to be nothing less than providence,
that those promises were pried
from the hands of the fates
and laid down at our feet
to walk to beds and dreams of
futures even fuller than
our little minds could bear to contain.
How could any of us have known
that those well intentioned words
were wells of empty buckets
sunk into our hearts
to be pulled back up with
dash numbered figures
of tuition fees
and boarding costs
and vacancies to internships
paying the same as well water.
That counting on our make believe
to be worth anything more
than minimum wage
at a job that treats us as
nothing more than the kids
we were when we never knew
we'd end up here,
counting clocks and still imagining
moonbeams,
and New York City
and successful surgeries
and sunny summer days.
Its a wonder we ever
feel like closing our eyes.
Its a wonder we ever
even blink for a second
for fear that the wishes
we dare to have
between breathes would get stolen
like wind knocked out gasps
by the balled fists of capitalists
who'd sell the very air to us
if they could only figure out
how to package it right.
How can we believe we can do anything
when anything isn't anything
the world ever intended for us?
How can we cash in
on a promise made to a child
when those words
were really nothing more
than short change?
