the old man at the
corner
the old man at the corner
hates this red light
it’s imperiling his freedom
his car is almost a block long
it’s sucking out black smoke
while he’s sucking gray smoke out of cigar
he’s blasting the star-spangled banner
the way teenagers blast rap
but he has an indignant look on his face
instead of the smirk of life-long privilege
that his type usually wears around on patriotic holidays
maybe it’s the rain and the wind
maybe it’s the mexicans outside the grocery
laughing and speaking spanish as they haul
more corn and watermelon from a graffiti-covered truck
whatever it is that’s bothering him
it’s making me feel sad and cautious
old white men idling at corners
shouldn’t look so down on the fourth of july
it’s like seeing a sad kid at christmas
christ, if old white men can’t enjoy the day
what hope do the rest of us have here?
i watch him waiting for the light to turn
glaring up at that neon and red communist ball of light
as the star-spangled banner reaches its crescendo
i think maybe i should skip the booze store
run across the street and try my best to cheer him up
together we could recite the declaration of independence
reminisce about the good old days
tell our best reagan story
but suddenly the streetlight
turns that familiar sea foam green
and the old man at the corner is gone with a horn blast
the opening bars of oh, beautiful
coming out of his big hunk of detroit wonder
as the sky breaks
and the sun trickles along the pavement
as if saying
there’s still hope for america
today.
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