The best part of democracy
is taking the opposite position
of the lynch mob
on a public issue of the day.
The more they cry foul,
the more stubborn others become.
This behavior reminds the mob
popular rage
and the lust of desire
should never supersede
our freedom.

Sitting in the bar on a slow night,
a young robotics engineer from Europe
attending graduate school in Pittsburgh,
lamented about American politics.
"I don't know what's going to happen,"
he said. "There’s nothing we can do."
"Wait a minute," I said.
“Aren't you developing vertical farming technology?"
"Yes, that's right."
"So the poor can feed themselves?"
"Definitely.”
"Sounds to me that you’re doing plenty."
The young friend didn't reply,
and instead took a pull from his beer.
A minute later he laughed hard
at something on the television.
He wore a permanent smile
for the rest of the night.

On late Saturday nights
under the magnificent city skyline,
the young **** themselves
at varying rates of speed.
The old lie awake in their beds,
reminiscent of the better times.
All I can do is write my music
between mouthfuls of bourbon
and remember why I love you.

In our young adult years,
the novelty of liberation
sparked our imaginations.
We stayed out all night
in diners and on the streets.
We ****** whomever we chose
without fear
of man made consequences.
We penned horrible stories,
painted absurd portraits,
and drew the weakest comics.
Still, we were free spirits
with fresh souls
that we truly believed
would live forever.

In the bookstore cafe,
an old man in a ***** blue winter coat
struggled to eat an oversized chocolate cupcake
and sip at a small coffee.
His hands and thighs shook uncontrollably
as he focused more on safeguarding
his dignity, by not smearing the frosting
across his wrinkled face,
rather than enjoying the expensive treat.
The mall rats at neighboring tables
wore expressions of pity
for the man,
for his limitations.
He and I, we knew the truth,
that once he finished that cupcake
and downed that coffee,
he moved on with his day
a champion.

At the mall on the weekend
before Thanksgiving,
the army of American consumers
window shop, they browse,
they survey the battlefield.
Young women with similar shoes,
and similar hair, and similar politics
huddle in groups to plan
the impending attack next Friday.
Their body language indicates confidence.
Victory will be theirs.

Many years ago,
while taking an early spring walk
near the University of Pittsburgh,
I noticed a deep crack in the sidewalk,
and within the crevice
someone had wedged a lego action figure.
I'd considered removing the toy
as a keepsake of the first day outside
after a brutal winter,
but instead I allowed it to remain
as a small part of the urban landscape.
For several years, I took early spring walks
along the same part of the city,
and every year the lego man,
a little more weathered,
greeted me as an old acquaintance.
Eventually, the city replaced the sidewalk,
and like so many loose friendships,
based on convenience and circumstance,
the lego man was gone.