my inaugural poem


    Billy and I were lucky today:
    we had a TV down the hall –
    and a radio in the kitchen.
    In between getting the last
    of the buffet ready for the
    professors who would come
    to satisfy their post-inaugural
    munchies, I listened to the
    proceedings until the time came.
    “Let it burn, Billy,” I said.
    “It’s time.” And we ran down
    the hall in time to see our
    new president sworn in,
    and then we went back to work
    and continued to chop and
    cook as he delivered his
    address; and I wondered.
    I wondered what it meant
    that one day someone will
    ask where I was when our
    first African-American president
    was sworn in and I will say,
    “I was in the kitchen” and
    remember how hope filled
    the room like an aroma
    and my tears had nothing
    to do with onions.



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