Growing up
I remember my Mom
waxing narrative
about the bicentennial
How special it was
To be a teenager
living in Lexington
Celebrating ancestors
on the same green
The pride, the heritage,
the joy, the thrill
Here I am
Grown a stone’s throw
from the District
And we’re swiftly approaching
This country’s
two hundred-fiftieth birthday
And we’re in the round of sixteen
in the World Cup
where so many immigrants
have made the planet proud.
And we’re at war with Iran
who we bomb and dismiss
while we host them
on our soccer pitches.
And our leader
is throwing neighbors
in jail
over touching grass.
(Okay, algae).
And it’s one hundred
and seven
degrees
after five o' clock
in the evening
And America’s fair
is only for
partisan patriots
But my elders were there,
were they not?
On the green
at Lexington
In the woods
on horseback
Itching to change
to buck off mad kings
to create something new.
And maybe
two hundred fifty years
is long enough
in this direction
Perhaps today’s Mothers
and Daughters
have visions
for an even better way.
What’s next, fam?
