America, the hopeful
Today in America, the beautiful
They report body counts
like weather reports,
never mind the souls attached.
There is a 10% chance of rain tomorrow
and a 50% chance there will be a shooting.
Who looks at this world and wants to live in it?
Today, in American the great
Children sleep to lullabies of
war torn cries ripped from the throats of men--
crushed,
battered,
broken.
Black men raise their arms in surrender
while racists act
as their judge, jury,
and executioner.
Today, in American the brave,
Women are spit on
and silenced,
and the court is deaf to their cries.
Fifty men and women are murdered
at a gay club and someone has the audacity to say:
"Those fags got what they deserved."
Today, in America the bountiful,
There are so many homes
with permanently empty seats
at the dinner table.
There are so many homes
with no food on the dinner table.
I watch the news
and pick up my pencil to write.
I press so hard that the lead threatens to break.
I let the twisting claws of grief sharpen it.
Who is satisfied
with the knowledge that the apocalypse
will be live-tweeted?
That revolutions will be written off as riots,
that nothing will change?
And nothing will change
unless
Tomorrow, in American the hopeful,
we make apathy the last casualty
of 2016.