Sabati was eight years old on the day
that his grandfather told him to sit down,
there was a story that he had to share,
that he was finally old enough now.
In a hallowed grandstand,
I do quietly sit,
high above the noise
and ruckus of the pit.
They say they're anti-fascists,
ANTIFA is their chosen name,
that they have to go fight Nazis,
on whom every bad thing they blame.
My quest to walk across the nation,
like vaunted pioneers of old,
started in Maine six months ago,
post vlogs of my progress for folks.
A quiet call born of wind,
the rustling needles sound,
a hard chair of stony set,
cooler than dirty ground.
Oh the woman I loved was unfaithful
I found out that hard truth today,
now when I look at her I feel hateful
since she found another for her play.
My head lolled as I rode through sun-baked land,
too parched to notice the vistas grand,
Southern Nevada had cursed me with thirst,
a kind that most people will never know.
I have an aunt out in Cali,
we used to visit every year,
she had a yoga studio,
and my grandmother used to cheer
It seems a day cannot go by
without some fit of pique
over a person who spoke out,
who used his right to speak