You pass three large
feed lots coming in from, or leaving out of, the north end of town, and
there’s another feed lot on the south end.
He’s dressed for
success in camou slacks, black work boots, a green and brown houndstooth sports
coat, a USA flag do rag on his head. He’s
walking her to the school bus stop. He’s
her dad, and he’s holding her hand, and she loves him and is proud of him.
I remember the
raging of AIDS in the late 1980’s. I remember
the healing services at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Seattle, mid-week, at
night. Men gathered, praying.
The school bus goes
up the hill and the road curves left carrying it out of sight behind a rise.
Inside the bus, the kids blaze in thrilling English, Spanish, Chinese,
Vietnamese, Korean, French, Tagalog, German, Armenian, Russian, Japanese,
Farsi, Khmer, Punjabi, Arabic, Hmong, Navajo.
I am awed,
entertained and inspired, on a daily basis, by the quality of so much of the
literary art I see on the Internet and in the journals (paper or electronic);
new writers, international scope, artistic intrepidity. But…why do so many adepts
of new media (mis)use it to perpetuate and valorize memes that went out in granddad's time?
Action, guey, action!
(The title is
borrowed from the poem America by Claude McKay.)
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