An American Bar 

Two girls in tiny tops.

Boys in backward caps repping white socks. 

The girls each want a little kiss,

To make it the days they’ll one day miss? 

Stars, stripes, and sports, 

On tap brews of all sorts- 

Our flag is plastered across the scene 

And of the crowd, 50% are teen.

The bearded bartenders slamming down the pints on deck 

Are the clear desire of the girls’ lingering peck. 

The rest just scream current or retired frat row,

Mr Brightside and they are dropping it low.

The heart of the Midwest…

Here at the center- we are united the best?

This is the reflection of the American core,

In all its vexed culture we profit on to ignore. 

What is it that so clearly makes this bar the United States?

The way the bros are bros and not mates? 

Their lack of maturity and predisposed fates? 

The two girls’ guilt free objectification of a white man's face?  

The downing of booze to let all memory erase? 

Is all that our amazing grace?

The two girls in tiny tops, 

That they bought in fast fashion shops, 

Kiss not a bartender or a bro 

And in the end are plenty content with so. 

They are headed back east the next day, 

The Midwest is far too American for them anyway…

Or this one bar just led them astray…

But really this bar is there no matter the state they stay.