Wet Dreams
 They cheer.
 Cheering me as though I am representing a Nation.  
 As though I am a metaphor of this ample Nation.  
 In the future I brand my body with scores of paint, 
 to show that I am theirs, 
 an accoutrement of the Nation.
 I wear my Osh-Kosh swimsuit while  I tread, 
 applying the peanut butter and smoothing it.
 Trying to keep my head above water, 
 trying not to choke on the wet dreams of my supporters.
 They cheer.
 I see them to the right of me, 
 standing on raised concrete, cheering.
 Who are they?  The deep blue eyes are familiar.
 Are they family?  Limbs of the tree?
 The wet eyes of the girl clash with the rest of her head, but yet, she still cheers. 
 They are all cheering.
 My legs are becoming weak.  
 I can see the seven grain bread right in front of me, 

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