Once upon a Time on Facebook

“It’s time for the American people to take back our USA!”—Facebook Post

Take back “our America...Take it back, from—whom? Who came and stole our America? Perhaps we gave it away—traded it for some magic technology beans, for bread and circuses; for stuff, and things, and more.

Perhaps our American ran away from home, got sick of our nonsense and longed for the open road. “YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF AMERICA!” she cried. Doors slam. Windows break. Tears. Tear gas. Broken bodies of those who would have justice—to whom equality is just a dream. America, struggling to grow up.

Where does our America live? What zip code does she call home? Does America have a home? Homeless America, too many of us, broke or sick, addicted, or haunted.

Or is it the American Road Show—appearing contentious, unable to stay on one continent—circling the globe—fighting her demons, but doing it abroad. Our America, her better angels taking flight…missiles by dawn’s early light. And when we come home, our demons come with us.

Our America you say? What does she look like?

Seriously. I wonder if I know her at all.

Our America. When was she ours?

When we waded ashore and wrapped up her First Peoples in blankets of death? Was she ours, when we built her with blood and sweat, from the ground up? The blood and sweat and stolen labor of people we enslaved? Was she ours then?

When was America our America? When did she stop? When we grabbed her by the —-?? Well, you get my drift. But she was asking for it. Wasn’t she?

We made America great! Once? What did that look like, I wonder? When America was great, when she was ours, when —when was that, exactly? When did she stop?

America, “My America,” is more an idea, than ideal. My America is still becoming—she is still being born, and some times, brother, let me tell you—-birth is messy. It is bloody, it is sh***y, and beautiful, and painful, and all of those things at once.

I don’t want to take her back—I want to push forward. I want some thing BIGGER. I want something BETTER than whatever “same as it ever was” was like.

I want an Our America —for All of Us.

Happy Birthday America.

Thinking of Lanston Hughs--Let America Be America Again
https://poets.org/poem/let-america-be-america-again

For Devin

I wrote this a couple of years ago for my middle son...
On Monday, February 3--he became a parent.
I love you, Devin.

Step Into My Parlor

I dreamed last night I built my fence...

In my dream, I had gone into my garage in stompy fit of rage and desperation—did I mention how very life-like the dream was? Anyway, I’m in my garage, after suffering an attack on my newly-planted tree, urgently looking for fence building materials—the elk are coming! The elk are coming! When what did I spy with my little eye but a jumbo-sized roll of duct tape. Viola! And Eureka! Gadzooks!

Dream fence building is a lot like home renovation “as seen on TV.” There are a few highlights of a bit of the construction, a couple of light-hearted blooper moments—ha-ha, look at Sue with the duct tape tangled in her hair—an uplifting soundtrack, possible some footage played at twice the normal speed for both time constraints and comedic effect. Before you know it, the fence is built, cue the long, sweeping shot of The Project.

The Project looked an awful lot like a giant spider had constructed a web around my property, nine feet high, sticky-side facing out, using duct tape. Even in my dream the visual was a sobering one. What god-fearing elk would dare stick his—more likely HER—face into a giant spiderweb? Zero elk.

Yet, even in my dream, the wicked perfidiousness of elk would not let me rest. I kind of blame my local telephone repair guy for frightening me with stories of elk laying down on the ground to squirm under his fence, wriggling and hoofing their way towards his pears for my dream devolving into a nightmare. And devolve it did.  After only a single dream-night, the elk returned in force to assault my fence. The first wave hung on the sticky tape like macabre decorations, but their shedding nullified the sticky defensive power of my fence. Then the next wave attacked.

Thankfully, it was at this point I woke up.