by Scott Lowery
No point appealing to the heart
or soul it doesn’t have, so save
your breath. It needs its namelessness,
but name it with too many syllables
and it wins again, the goon squad’s
tracks wiped clean by grocery lists, snow,
football scores. Just four words
on my sign: Breathe Easier—Join Us!
Hah! Not really! jokes the nervous
young marshal in his or her
neon vest at the busy crosswalk—
too cold to breathe easy here today!
It’s what we do at these things—
wry smiles, weather complaints,
bits of chatter to pass around
like balm for our deeper shivering.
Most of us have paid our protest dues
before, are dressed for bitter wind,
giving motorists our cheerful best
reflected back by honks and hand
waves, leaning our way behind unshattered
windshields. Faces like or unlike
ours, bright momentary smiles—
running to Target for toothpaste or beer,
some Happy Meals on the way home,
trying not to see those prices rising like
flood water, halfway up the basement steps.
Give us a good old
disaster any day of the week,
we all know how to pitch right in,
wade through mud and wreckage
in our rubber boots. Same kind
of summons is why we’re here,
boots, signs and all. So, thanks
for the wave but next week join us,
please—all of us breathing easier,
warm bodies out in the cold to say
it plain and clear. Name it Wrong.
Name it Not While I Can Breathe.
