I Hate Americans

Sitting at the bus stop talking with a Texas accent
(faking a southern drawl just to start a conversation)
about the secrets of the universe and energies and magic.
Someone asks me for a cigarette; it starts raining.

I tell a lie about where I went to high school
and say I have a baby I named Michael
and that his father doesn’t know about him yet
because he is abusive and smokes meth.

The man sitting next to me just shook his head,
which was underneath a giant spider web, so
it’s definite that he’s infested with them…

Which reminds me that my grandma’s in a nursing home
and how I haven’t seen her since she had the stroke.
Briefly I feel sadness and confusion,
but then I tell another story about Houston
(the fake hometown that I’ve never really lived in)
and before I bid farewell to all my new friends
I mention that they’ll see me again in heaven.
As soon as I’m on the bus, I become Australian
and start talking about how much I hate Americans.

Reviews

[TLK]

There are so many sly switches in this piece I almost can't count them. The lies seem to come so fast, the reader has no idea what the liar herself believes. Well done.