Summer Nights
Summer Nights
American Gods
July 4, 2019
Alone At Night
God is an American.
God drinks beer, she’s a vegan; she gazes at fireworks and runs in the rain.
God listens to jazz, plays the piano, makes guitars out of dead trees and she has two dogs, three cats, a bird and walks barefoot.
God rides her bicycle to the library, quit smoking years ago and has a brother who tells dirty jokes that make her laugh.
God loves fountains and Ferris Wheels and she has been on trains that took her from Maine to Oregon, Los Angeles to Miami and she wore a jean jacket with an American flag stitched on the shoulder during most of those miles.
God reads silly novels and keeps a messy but flourishing vegetable garden and she cried when they tore down the bowling alley next to the dance hall.
God thinks Spider-Man is beautiful and she wishes there were more movies starring Treat Williams.
God is an American and she has long hair tangled with stars and onions and she is the last one left in the grandstands of the high school football field long after the rockets red glare have faded to dust, the music has stopped and the children and the old people have walked back home.
God is alone at the football field and she wishes, just once, she could know what it’s like to catch the ball and run from one end zone to the other back and forth over and over and over and over as the crowd roars.
She sits at the quiet, darkened football field on a July night, alone except for the ghosts and the stars. God sits there.
She sits there for a long time. --TK
Thursday, July 4, 2019