|on the gym wall, Bedford, VA|
election night, the coffee shop
is hopping, a bus worth of high school kids
and older humans, fresh hash marks, off
two kids in the corner, sisters,
try out for professional wrestling
on the comfy seats--kick to the face,
giggles, the youngest chants nursery
rhymes as she flails & i am
stuck in conversation with an end times
prophesier (professor) i had the dumb
luck to sit next to - 'if the current regime...
(insert a litany of ignorant propaganda
---yes, i tried to wipe my feet
before tracking it in the house---later)
...it's the end of times,' and not just the Mayan
calendar, but Chinese-Alien take over, lost
value of the dollar & thank God for Political
saviors---he's got a book too, not the Bible, a prop,
he chops in his palm as he heats up (hey wait,
why is everyone leaving- all bunched up
at the other end of the shop) 'but what about---'
& he's not used to someone asking questions
as he blasts, 'Obviously, [no name drop here]
is senile & the media twisted his remarks.'
I don't win, never intend to in endless seasons
of ever greater division, but listen, then move
over beside an Asian couple, '6 moanth ole'
she says in broken English as i make faces/twiddle
fingers at their child
'i have two myself, boys'
in ways, not so menacing, at all.
written for Poetry Jam and well in advance of any announcement as to who took the race to 270---my hope though is that whoever it may be, that we can start to look beyond that which separates us and begin to bring healing to a much divided nation, while we still can.