by David Spicer
You rest on the Capitol lawn
silent as the senators and congressmen
who ignore you and your former owners
you’re there protesting inaction and corruption
stay on that ground as long as you can
to inhabit you to haunt the bought and paid for politicians
unarmed teachers anything but the weapons
fly into the sky an invisible insurrection of gentle avengers
Pennsylvania Avenue or the steps of the granite
on his head knock some compassion into his apathy
of the 7000 children and of teachers concertgoers,
7000 pairs of you all colors and kinds red sneakers brown
remain together escape from the hired sanitation workers
find you and diminish your power no transform your cloth
into new life defy science defy reality band together perform miracles
oh shoes what will become of you don’t let them take you away
whisper shout mutter sing yell into enough ears of enough saviors
on another lawn at the capitol of a state until you convince
to do something to do anything to stop stop stop their crooked silence
of thousands of more shoes who will join you and join an army
ghosts of victims who cannot speak anymore cannot laugh anymore
much like the capitol lawn cannot return the smile of an infant
when guns didn’t exist cannot live in a land of guns any longer
David Spicer has poems in Chiron Review, Alcatraz, Gargoyle, Reed Magazine, Raw, The Ginger Collect, Yellow Mama, Ploughshares, The New Verse News, The American Poetry Review, and elsewhere. He is the author of Everybody Has a Story and five chapbooks; his latest chapbook is From the Limbs of a Pear Tree, available from Flutter Press.
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