"great america"

"great america"

written in a comfortable bed by jake kilroy.

every spring, there comes a night

when summer peaks its head in,

just to make sure the windows are open,

just to make sure the doors are unlocked,

just to make sure that it's still welcome.

as a child, i would spend that evening

on a back porch with soft light

wishing southern california had fireflies.

instead, i had dog barks and powerlines,

but i adored the great sound of the world.

i heard wishing wells, car horns and insects buzz.

and i had rooftops, back seats and balconies.

we heard whispers, kisses and sighs.

and we had picnics, freedom and time.

but still we sought great america.

we wanted the america jean commercials promised us.

we wanted the america that was fought for by farmers.

we learned fizgerald and hemingway in school.

we discovered vonnegut and robbins in bedrooms.

we read and wrote love letters until we couldn't see

anything but a future that was filled with generous sex

that meant the world to the unfathomable depths of our aching hearts.

the teenage years are a magical spell of their own

and it's probably where great america came from.

what i learned in school gave me an america,

but it wasn't great america.

great america was what my grandparents told me about

when i spent the weekend.

they told me about golden hollywood and radio shows,

but they always left out the bad parts,

so i could sleep at night without crying

for the great america that never truly was.

i remember watching old television programs

after my grandparents would go to bed

and i'd fall asleep trying to understand

what i had missed and how beloved it was.

then my grandfather would wake in the middle of the night

and make me and my sister and my brother

warm chocolate pudding in a big batch,

so we'd go to bed with stomachaches

after eating the secret recipe of his irish mother

who passed away after seeing the entire 20th century.

she saw great america and all i knew about her

is that she liked playing cards, telling stories

and making chocolate pudding for her son.

she could've told me what great america was

but i was too young to listen

and she was too old to wait.

i came to some years later,

aware of american history

and pissed about politics.

my marx was always groucho, never karl,

and my teachers never gave me great america.

they just read from a book

that sounded like death

and i waited until they finished.

and then i'd go home

and dream about great america.

by the time america let me smoke,

i was unstoppable.

but by the time america let me drink,

i was distracted.

what those few years of voting will do to you,

i swear it just ages your heart,

'cause all you're ever doing is waiting for great america.

but i clung to enough morning cartoons

to see the colors of the growing world.

and i absorbed enough film noir flicks

to read between the black and white.

so where are the answers for these questions

that i ask every new year's eve?

how many churches must i attend?

how many barbecues must i throw?

how many highways must i drive?

how many baptisms and christenings

must i sit through to really know that

my neighbor loves me, despite fences?

when i was a boy,

i thought great america was kissing a girl

under the fourth of july fireworks at night.

i thought great america was a bike ride

without wanted posters or police alerts.

i thought great america was a swim at sunset

and figuring out the unending darkness.

later, as a young man,

i saw great america as a big city loft,

with sparse furniture and art i didn't get.

i saw great america as protests and riots

that sprawled out until the cops gave in.

i saw great america as a home in the suburbs

and never wanting a single thing again.

now, as someone writing this,

i see great america as a comfortable bed.

we all sleep in it, we all pray around it,

and sometimes it brings out the best in us,

but it's where the fights are,

it's where the romance is,

it's where the hope should be.

oh, america,

sweet gentle great america,

if i've found you, then i have to ask,

when was the last time you took a nap?