Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday, America. So, how old are you now?
We’ve baked you a cake. A country-sized cake.
I know, we didn’t have to, but we had all this food lying around in silos and warehouses and store shelves.
It would have just gone to waste. Or food aid to people that hate us anyway.
We’ll dig a gigantic hole and call it your mouth.
Go ahead. Make a wish. Blow out the candles.
Then, thousands of bulldozers will push the cake into your mouth.
Earthquakes will chew it up. Grind it into a sugary mush.
And swallow the cake down.