We’ve become
so angular
in America
The Beautiful,

lurching along with no grace,
our bones somehow stark
in grim faces in spite of our
slack obesity.

In the street,
in factory or office,
in church or temple,
we have to stare at each other

a long time to see
anything transcendent
there, and then
we turn suspicious;

we wonder what source of joy
they’re hiding that should be ours
as our faces get leaner,
and meaner, and more and more cruel.

How far we’ve come
from the Good Old Days.
We don’t remember them,
but there are those who do

or say they do and they
are the itch on the side
that won’t stop pinching,
the ones who goad us to claim

Good Old Days
that never were,
Good Old Days
that for others

were the Dark Times.
Maybe that’s why we’re
all so glum, so mad,
so tuned to the key of war.

We all have heard by now
that the myth’s a myth
and America the Beautiful
is bait on a trip wire.

The Good Old Days
some of us had were built
on broken backs, stolen earth,
raped minds, and bounty scalps.

Some of us
are angry
because we trust karma
and know what’s coming.

Others clench
their fists
because they miss ignorance
and the peace that comes with it.

No matter what the cause,
we’re a nation of angular, sharp-faced
soldiers these days, all of us,
no matter how soft we seem.

One of these days
we’re going to cut loose
and start to cut our losses
in a wild stab

at finding our visionary
birthrights, our Good Old Days
in our Beautiful Americas.
It will not be pretty.