He strode
into America’s
Birthday Party
with an air
of power
and privilege
befitting
a nobleman
who had learned
a thing or two
about governing,
a thing or two
about the strengths
and weaknesses
of Republics.
He looked up—
approvingly—
at America’s
Stars and Stripes:
a more sophisticated,
but equally treasured
and defended
symbol for
a democratic state
as the vexillum
his armies
had used.
He smelled
the meat
grilling,
inhaled
the intoxicating
smoke—
and again saw
the happy
smiling faces
of a nation’s
citizenry.
Like victorious
feasts on great
battlefields,
in days of old
long since
vanished,
after glorious battles
had been waged,
fought and won.
He cringed a bit
when he heard
the strange sounds
of fireworks
exploding overhead,
fearing that his legions
might again
be under attack.
He had already
seen and knew
too much
about destruction
and death—
about the destruction
and death
of Republics.
Upon learning
it was America’s 243’rd,
He paused
for a moment,
in earnest,
and then declared:
"She will meet
the same fate
as my own,
if her leaders
are not wise
and not true.
Democracies,
like their leaders,
are fragile,
and do not
last forever.
They’ve flown
and are fleeting.”
….
And, with that,
He was gone.
Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and semi-retired trial lawyer studying poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared most recently in Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, TheNewVerse.News, Social Justice Poetry, The Potomac, The Penmen Review and elsewhere.
