blow out your candles.
make a wish.
hold up a protest sign.
tonight the fireworks spell R E S I S T.
your hair's in pigtails braided red blue and white.
this country's like a drawing colored out of the lines.
happy birthday america.
you never asked for this.
and someday you hope to see a better fourth of july.
The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.
is more of a creek,
covered in yellow leaves and rotting branches
that staunch the flow like a bandage over blood.
The river in the woods
probably used to rush
like its brothers farther north, shrieking
/ i am running / and for once / i am not
dragging you with me / i am glad / and clearly /
you are not to blame /
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