The Raised Hand

The Raised Hand

So.

Some say the sun shone, some say the rain came,

but we all saw that hand raised, two bibles high.

That mouth made its promises, we all heard those promises,

the camera moved in close enough so we could hear and see.

Some say he was smiling, some say that’s not smiling

and does it matter anyway?  He’ll be what he will be.

So then.

We were all ages, we were all sizes,

we made us some hats and we made us some signs.

We rode two thousand buses all night to D.C.,

we marched determined our times must be free.

So now.

That same raised hand is holding the pen that signs our rights away, 

and that same mouth is pouting—he doesn’t like our shouting? 

Maybe fears our marching feet?  Unsure now what he should tweet?

Some of that Bible, I’d say.  We marchers won’t be going away.

So there.

                                                    —Sef, 2/5/17