Here in America
we yell at each other as though
anger were a pre-existing condition,
and diatribe an anagram of democracy;
but screaming doesn’t make it so:
louder and truer are not synonyms —
the same goes for rich and smart.
Using poetry to talk politics
is like giving a homework assignment
to a gaggle of eighth graders:
you can talk, but most aren’t listening;
it takes, therefore, the tenacity of
a middle school teacher to try . . .
because both teacher and poet
can name names: immigration is
named Hugo and José and Miriam;
health care is called Stross and Fez:
the Word becomes Flesh
and the shouting cannot put it out.