The Rally

We stood in the cold sun,
Eight hundred thousand, defenseless,
Except for the barbs scrawled on placards.
(Wit is the sharpest tool
In democracy's arsenal.)
Americans for centuries
Have been trigger-happy;
Potshots are easy solutions
For smoldering grudges,
Unbearable bosses,
Malfunctioning marriages . . .
Always some sophomoric excuse
To keep a sacred piece
Tucked under one's pillow.
But the USA is a union,
Not an anarchy of autocrats;
The individual must learn to trust
The unified whole, and cease pretending
He can play the sheriff
When situations spin out of control.
Young ones: Don't let ignorance
Sour your virtues. The honey of past generations
Has spoiled and burns our tongues
Like acid.
We must use our arms for voting.