Our dream came true.
We believed them the way children do,
Without seams of skepticism,
With certainty that fireworks and fairytales
Perform only for them.

No one is hungry:
We renamed the ache,
Wrapped it in language
that photographs well.

No one is homeless:
We adjusted the label,
called it loitering.

No one is lonely:
There’s a plan for that now,
auto-renewing and tokenized,
charging quietly each month.

You can feel the hum, can’t you?
Not loud, never loud, but constant.

A low, obedient vibration
Threading through marrow and sleep:
The sound of planned obsolescence.

Our dream came true.
The markets nod in approval,
Screens burn bright through the night
Like artificial suns whispering metrics of progress,
Counting the distance between where we are,
and what we traded to get here.

Outrage now comes fully plated:
algorithmically balanced,
expiring just as appetite fades.

We scroll, consume, and refresh.
We are full, but never nourished.
Real care-free living.
Polished, curated, sedated,
Sealed inside the soft, shining bars of a gilded cage.

Welcome.

Welcome to Mobile America.