Grand Theft America

by John Redmond

Though upside-down, my burning Cherokee 
leapfrogs Chinatown — “Hey! 
Learn how to drive!” — though on its end,
my spinning Humvee
escapes the derailing underground train,
and though lumpy men
with baseball-bats assail my tiny life —“Take him out!” — 
I will make this junction
to pinch a jalopy — “Our suspect thinks he can play
fast and loose with the law”— with a flick 
of the pinkie, switch 
from first- to third- to first-person view
—“You know something? I am hot tonight”—
full-on front-end
a hatchback and thrill (with a slo-mo jump 
across the rush-hour)
to the dark and light of police-helicopters 
blowing apart 
in bootsole view. And I will wait till the kettle 
pulls itself 
off (“You see? The passion,
she is back”), let my left hand drift to my left cheek,
park myself deep
in the alleyway murk (press middle finger to exit) 
and twitch,
or go round and round
and twitch.
And I will let my right hand explore my chin-jut
till sundown, and I will check 
out the arc of my shotgun (mmmm how good 
this tastes),
as America loads in the background.