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.

Peace,
Milton