Marianne serves herself up on a half shell, raw and true.
Proudly calloused
from the last campaign, she makes
her grand return by noting
streets are littered with more bodies
than cigarette butts.
By noting Americans want
to live a normal life
yet feel the shade
of ruin nearby.
And so Marianne confronts the powerful
and calls for mercy.
Marianne overcomes despair
with spiritual ideas
like love
which the powerful dismiss
as beneath them.
Marianne carves up their coldness
and swears that
kindness can heal the cold-eyed
exchange of money.
To Marianne, the campaign is a crusade
and the podium her pulpit
and politics is for all the people.
Marianne cries for the ways
we have been abandoned
by the leaders.
Their promises passed down
and around,
like clothes in a washer.
She says don’t believe things
they say that hurt you
but believe in something
that will not hurt you.
Marianne ought to rein supreme.
But the party thinks not.
They mock her.
I dream of Marianne basking
in the media-curated sunlight,
of the whole nation holding her ideas
in its palms.
And Marianne saying, Thank you all
for coming,
for being raw and true.
For knowing all lives matter.
