Requiem for the American Meme by Chris Banks

The American Dream, once an orgiastic green light, is now a rape kit in the car trunk of a serial killer.

Requiem for the American Meme

by Chris Banks

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Cultural ideas spread like dandelions, forget-me-nots,
in the green lawns of corporate America. I’d stare at clouds 
rather than memes, but the inside joke of nihilism, 
of civilization collapsing, is more funny than a cloud’s inside joke 
of rain. It will be another ten years of forest fires, famines, 
before we hear the punchline of eco-terrorism overtake nightly 
news no one watches. Memes say, watch the dancing baby!
Every one of our houses is on fire. The caption: this is fine. 
Now substitute a dog drinking coffee for Noam Chomsky. 
Substitute Jason Momoa sneaking up on every damn one of us 
for a carriage ride with Death. The American Dream, 
once an orgiastic green light, is now a rape kit in the car trunk 
of a serial killer. My thoughts cannot be toyed down
to a picture of Kermit the Frog drinking tea,  
to Leonardo DiCaprio raising a glass of champagne.
Maybe the best meme is what light is whispering
to the cherry blossoms making them so horny for bees, 
or how every Instagram selfie tasers the word me over and over, 
until it smiles. Here is a photo of an otter swimming 
with its baby on its lap. Here is condescending
Willy Wonka. Add funny captions. I would add my own, 
but I’m too busy turning myself into smoke, into  
a cultural panic attack, into magnolia blooms torn asunder
like beautiful metaphors for living and dying. 
Change my mind.