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The Chris Chandler Show

  • The Road Map of America / Lost Days Long Nights (5:16)

    The Road Map of America/ Lost Days Long Nights
    Chris Chandler / Paul Benoit

    the road-map that is America unfolding
    ahead of me
    from God’s own glove compartment
    and then being used as a napkin
    to wipe the grease from our chicken fingers
    purchased from the devil’s own drivethru
    out the window
    of want
    and summersaults past
    silos and skyscrapers that materialize
    upon the horizon
    and then disappear
    through the tiny black hole
    that is my rearview;

    dogs and horses parading the pasture
    where dogwoods and horsemint bloom;
    urban blight and rural decay,
    solid white cotton fields like freshly fallen snow,
    softening the Carolina landscape;
    picked by illegal immigrants,
    and shipped to chemical plants in Brazil,
    transformed into the latest poly-fibre, 15% cotton
    and shipped to Bangladesh
    and sewn into table clothes
    and shipped back to South Carolina
    to be stocked upon the shelves
    of a Walmart
    by the very same people
    that once worked in the textile mills
    that lie abandoned
    along the thin highways of fat america;

    Purple Mountains Travesty and Amber waves of in-equality;
    Mudflap Angels and divisive bumper stickers
    redefine patriotism on the rear bumper
    of a 1974 Ford Galaxy with a
    mask-less driver and a West Virginia license plate;
    billboards blaring, “God, guns and gentlemen’s clubs”
    fail to see their own irony;

    Jesus Christ embossed
    in stark black and white post-social realism style
    with bright red realistic blood dripping from an etched crown of thorns,
    “This Blood’s for You!” it reads;
    A baseball Glove, Apple Pie and an AR-15,
    “PURE AMERICAN,” it reads;
    high heeled hellcat in fishnets,
    “Hot Legs, Always Hiring, Beer Special noon to 4 AM
    Amateurs and Couples Welcome,” it reads.

    Headlights on
    Gas prices as low as the traffic, and my expectations
    18 Wheelers lined up at ports of call ferrying Prime next day deliveries beneath telephone and power lines.

    rain, refineries and rainbows;
    the freshly paved asphalt glistens prismatic in the Appalachian drizzle

    Windshield wipers slapping time,
    I was holding no one‘s hand in mine
    as we i sang every song
    the radio knew.