American Confessions

Submitted by Emily Hoover |

The following is a poem submitted to the Creative Section by Emily Hoover. The Gargoyle is currently accepting submissions of creative works including creative writing, fine art, graphic illustrations, multimedia and photography.


American Confessions 

I once saw the ugly American.
Wedge high heels, ceramic face.
She clutches currency in her
moisturized hands, staring coldly
through Ray Ban sunglasses,
protesting the same system
she endorses with her shades.

I once saw the ugly American,
caught up in the virtual reality
of living. An abandoned baby
carriage floats near a posing
family, blocking traffic. I beep.
They are the ultimate dream
through the lens of their camera.

I once smelled the ugly American
before I saw him. Sunscreen
perfumes the air. It mixes with the
elements. His kids scream, cry.
His wife smacks her gum, removed.
Yet sweaty feet still squeak in
unison. Their Crocs march.

I once saw the ugly American
when I looked in the mirror.
I love trees. I love mountains.
I love oceans, streams, sand.
But I can't say I love the TV.
Brand names validate identity.
Memos and meetings shield
sunlight. Episodic comedies
define familial perfection.
Still I watch them. A voyeur.
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