Jun 13

Little Rhode Island Man

“Song of Myself” reverberating 
Through the day and the cold bright
Punch of being 
Alive. And he's curled up in an 
Armchair, newspaper shuffling in 
Hand. He’s looking for a 
Glass. “Um, they’re under
Here, sir.” Little figure in front of me,
Tiny box man, Rhode Island grey
hair and dripping chin. 
Little military man, with actors 
All about him and gold curving trimming
Closing in on all sides. I say! Don’t you see? Don’t 
You see the facade of the walls? But he floats
Up the long steps and out the door and out into
The green white heaven of DC. His charcoal suit crumples 
At each bend, movement. I 
Say! Don’t you see it’s just fabric? Pressed
Together with dreams of power and
Long scripted speeches and sharp nods and the same
Subway rides to everywhere. I say!
Little Rhode Island man. Here 
Is your home,
So don’t 
Lose it.