America Lounging
I see America lounging, breathing in the sausages and skewered vegetables,
Those of bartenders, each one being heard, as it should be, loud and wrong,
The doctor snoring away his holiday as he sways in a hammock,
The mason singing to his new son as he forgets his job, fatherhood being work,
The fisherman ignoring forecasts of tides, the deckhand sailing on the Charles,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the elders reweaving old yarns,
The (shopkeeper’s)* chat, the bicyclists commuting to nowhere special, no time soon,
The raucous laughter of the mother, or of the newlyweds at play, or of the girl in a sprinkler,
All laughing through the afternoon that belongs to us all, despite each separate wish,
The sundown shadowing cardplayers, and lovers, and college kids, all robust, friendly,
Singing and yawning with widened smiles, welcoming tomorrow with open arms.
[After Whitman]
*(One word that means “cashier at 24-hour store?”)
[After Whitman]
