Best Days

It’s seventy degrees outside

while at Walmart the Christmas music plays

for those standing in line at the lay away counter

looking in their checkbook

mentally figuring out if they have enough

to pay for the children’s gifts

and next month’s rent

while on a giant flat screen

streaming news of murder and protest

lacking a name for the struggle

taking place before our eyes

in the streets and parks

as police club the people

pepper spray an old woman

endless images in the land of the free

of bloodied people, arms linked, standing still

carrying signs

When did we begin to hate our neighbors

take our guns to the movies

fear the future and one another?

Which day was it

when the sun set on our best days,

days when we ran free,

fearlessly through the streets

not worrying about the future;

when we truly loved our country

because we didn’t know any better?

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