Submitted by Emily Hoover | email@example.com
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.