Sail—sail thy best, ship of Democracy!
—from “As A Strong Bird On Pinions Free” by Walt Whitman
November 9, 2024.
Time for my annual blood pressure check,
which I passed with flying colors. Interesting expression,
flying colors, comes from a time when victorious ships
flew their colorful flags high. But in my case—
no need to increase my Lisinopril.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse said,
“but first I’m required to ask a question.
Do you ever feel depressed?” To which I said,
“After this election, yes!”
Thirty minutes later, I was driving east
on the Lloyd Expressway, normally
four lanes but on that day a narrow two,
when a Ford Bronco, doing a solid 50,
pulled out of the bumper-to-bumper westbound lane
and straddled the centerline, horn blazing.
Sandwiched between a concrete barrier
and a Bronco, I was dead meat.
Quantum physics poses the possibility
that I am now alive in another dimension,
a multiverse, one in which
the Bronco squeezed by,
and, though still depressed,
I am writing this. If so,
it’s possible that in another world,
on November 9, 2024,
a nurse turned to me and asked,
“Do you ever feel depressed?” To which I said,
“After this election? No way!” For people
had said no to his heartlessness.
Blue flags flew, victorious.
And our Star-Spangled Banner yet waved.