I turned eight the summer of 1976
and everything seemed to swell
with bicentennial pride.
Even the cement trucks were painted
red, white, and blue and we waved
our flags at the fire engines
and high school band as they
paraded down a crowded Mission Avenue
buzzing with proud cheers and
Tootsie Rolls thrown at our feet.
It belonged to everyone, that time.
Today, there are some storefront windows
painted with America 250 and the light poles
down Main Street have banners with that logo,
but it's different these 50 years later.
Perhaps I've become too gun-shy, too cynical,
too resentful that these patriotic displays
have been hoarded and redefined
and now stand for all the wrong ideas
about what this country is and ought to be.
I looked online but haven't yet found anyone
selling America 253 shirts. I think it's a good idea
because most of us want to celebrate a different,
truer version of what this country is
and ought to be. But we know it’s going to take
a few more years to build a ballroom
that will accommodate all of us.
Scott McConnaha is a veteran, former teacher, editor, and healthcare administrator. He and his wife live in Plymouth, Wis. He is the author of a poetry chapbook titled Without a Prayer, and his work has appeared in Mobius, America, Door is a Jar, New Verse News, Dissident Voice, and Moss Piglet, among other publications.
