Standing at the drink machine in Panera
The little girl and her mother choose a beverage.
To the mother it is a simple act,
One of hundreds she does daily.
It brings her no pleasure;
With an audible sigh
She fills their cups while
Her mind hassles with other expectation
As she juggles her near future.
The little girl
Her pigtailed progeny
Who shadows her mother's left hip
Must see this machine as a small wonder:
A gushing goddess of endless sweetness
Just out of reach.
But in her young imagination
It will be hers
Someday
It's the way of the world,
Hers
When she reaches the moment
That money and means are within grasp.
It’s a simple dream
It’s the American Dream
Where the streets are paved in plenty
And fountains flow in pleasing draughts.
I am both charmed and frightened.
I wish for her a stoppage of time
Where she might dwell
In which her desires are within her grasp
And each day ends
Bear in arms
Tucked in her bed where
The sheets are cool and smooth as glass
And the pleasures are within easy reach
And the prices are simple.
World without end,
Amen.
-P. Sanderson
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