It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of that shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled.
Pass no more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
give no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest, our fate falters
let us be unbridled from
both the prideful and the lackluster,
un-arrested and unmolested
by the land grubbing snipes
or the false-fronted back slappers.
We are better than this blare of ourselves,
and if not
we can make a wooden wagon wheel
from all our legendary days,
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face. the dusty empire is crumbling
yet our first day is not yet done.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.
The world is made up of bystanders, upstanders, and victims.
The bystanders are horrified when their neighbors are falsely accused.
Offended when they see blatant misbehaviors, aggressors, punchers, slappers.
Relieved they are not targeted, the bystanders often become victims.
There is hell to pay then.
Or is there?
The victims are always targeted.
She rolled her eyes at me.
In a crowd of 50?
How do you know it was you?
I just know.
The victims have daily tales of woe.
She glared at me.
She gave me the bird.
He was whispering about me.
Did you hear it?
No.
I heard my name.
Could they have been saying something nice?
No.
How do you know?
I just do.
Being around them is hell to pay.
There are very few upstanders.
Maybe one in every two or three classrooms.
They are assertive, confident, and
Unafraid to speak up
Even if they are standing alone.
They speak up for the victims.
They speak up for the bystanders.
They speak up for the teacher.
If we don’t take our cue from the upstanders,
There will be hell to pay.
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