Democracy for the Discerning Eye

Jennifer Paige©1998

Amid the landfill-front-lawns

            Of white-trash America,

Tucked in dank garages of the vast lamb

            Of the Middle-class,

Passed over in dime-a-dozen

            Consignment stores

Resides democracy;

Of the people,

By the people,

For the people,

Awaiting the manicured fingernails

            Of antique collectors,

The apprehensive housewives,

And grimy hands and mouths of children,

Awaiting rediscovery,

Waiting…

Becoming best friends with grandma’s good china,

And junior’s busted-up bicycle cards still in the spokes,

Torn and tattered luggage that saw Europe in better days,

Holy magazines Time and Life insulating the corners with glossy words,

The greasy oil rags of painters and car mechanics

            Tossed haphazardly near cold kerosene heaters,

The dusty chessboards of intellect with Queens overturned

            To expose clean circles of marble,

Combustible, vacuum-sealed, neatly ordered cans of colored paint

            Stacked just out of the way of the melting pot,

Old records remembering war and peace in close harmony,

The crumbling paraphernalia of propaganda,

And the rolled and yellowing striped flag boasting of

            Unity and strength in the false colors of turncoats,

            Its poll topped with a bird of prey,

Here, forgotten, democracy is hidden,

Anxiously anticipating the revolution

Only to be picked up—

            Eyed curiously

            Inspected and probed with picky fingers,

            Turned endlessly and pondered

            By children

            And lawbreakers

            And mothers

            And soldiers

            And fathers—

And then set back down against

The unchanging table, book shelf, or cement floor

With a disinterested “thud”

Into the same dusty ring cleared for it years ago,

The sacred space,

Blessed by the priests of capitalism

Groaning on in the diesel engined,

Self-righteous drone

Of the American Machine.

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