remembering a time of sparklers — tiny poem

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the day that my american dream died I remembered sparklers

the sparks that twinkled, flaring from my hand

a firecracker’s proud blast

the blare of the lights

the rollicking night

now the realtor leaves another plastic flag

people scrounge through my recycling bins for cans

I don’t have the strength to watch

the sickening slow slide of my nation

people begging on the streets

It looks like that here, now

California’s deathroll — as if drums

were banging it out

America was a place of hope and dream

now the streets look mean

harsh with fangs

the land biting back on itself

a dustbowl of lost spirits

you tell me who made the global plan

was it bankers?

tankers?

~

on the day that my american dream died

I didn’t have any money to help one of the beggars on the street

I’m so sick of looking I can’t even eat

~

remembering the sparklers in my childish hand

what has happened to our land?