young, i don't remember
my mother
or father
wringing their hands
over
voting.
they went down
to the local school and did it,
then came
home,
never to speak of it again.
they didn't huddle around
the tv
agonizing over Walter Cronkite
giving the count.
they had
work to do,
children to raise.
i never saw them heading
out the door
on a weekday
with a sign
and spray paint,
megaphones
and cow bells, heading
downtown
to make a ruckus.
no.
i'd see my father with the lawn
mower
out front,
head down,
my mother out back,
hanging clothes on the line,
clothespins
in her mouth.
No comments:
Post a Comment