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.