now I shop these upscale malls
little islands in "paradise"
izod shirt, kenneth cole slacks,
soft italian loafers, calvin klein sunglasses,
i'm undercover, man...yeah, right.
i see sixteen-year old girls...
driving pink audi convertibles
and fat, cigar chomping wealthy guys
with high blood pressure
lumbering behind svelt blonde wives
who have impressive boob jobs
and i think to myself,
"this ain't my america."
just thirty miles east
is my south side of chicago
where a double cheeseburger ain't a buck...
the jobs are missing more than ever
and the middle class is joining the ranks of the poor
and on and on and on it goes...
then i snap out of my dream
as my wife asks:
"what do you think of this painting?"
and i answer not looking at the price tag:
"it sucks, and it's too expensive."
she laughs and says, "you'll never change."
and this is what i love about her
and i am happy with her as i jump inside my sedan,
as we drive to another little suburban "paradise".
i smile and think of my '62 ford galaxie
bought for a mere $200 in '68
it ran like a dependable old whore
for 5 whole years
'til it died somewhere on a chicago street.
it was a good deal
so fuck suburbia.