The glare off Roy Orbison’s glasses,
day-long voice, a harbinger of the tall order
we’re facing. Oh America,
you’ve skinned your knee.
Oh knee, the fine bend of our simple
machines: sit, couch. I cannot,
through all the speeches
figure how we’re still hanging,
We come to/for this: in honor
of playing host to the DNC
Philadelphia painted and posted
57 donkeys, one per state and territory,
across Center City. Where are you, Pennsylvania?
It’s not that you are never coming back to me .
Nearly carnival night, the presentation
of gifts representing a party. Oh
Roy, it’s the bitter way that I was told.
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