Our Congress celebrates disharmony,
Abandons injured soldiers once theyÕre home,
And when it came to righting the economy,
They made it harder for us to get a loan.
Our national discourse is toxic,
WeÕve forty-eight million uninsured,
The Gulf of Mexico is hypoxic,
In all, white Christian men are still preferred.
If Sandy Hook is what it took for us
To look at violence, then what will it take
To, if not resolve than at least discuss,
The problems of the people left in ProgressÕ wake?
And if we canÕt solve these issues of ours,
At least weÕve landed cameras on Mars.
On the edge of town. A fat, sweaty man. Battered clothes. Trudged. Crosswalk. Busy intersection. Wheeled heap. Ragged effects. Riverbound. To his right: Pockmarked parking lot. Waist-high weeds. Plywood windows. Sunset Motel. Rusted chain. Sign askew. Hourly rates available. To his left, a line of cars with blinkers glaring waited in air conditioned bubbles for him to finish his crossing. And to my right, a ten dollar lily in the passenger seat, its petals unfurled in full bloom.
© Tyler Haugen