This is how history works.
Disgusting, irresponsible
requests that start to sound
strange to your ear,
after the fourth
or fourteenth
or forty-thousandth time
you hear them repeated.
Men and women, reading
aloud from storybooks,
not reading what needs
to be read, deciding
things best left undecided
by anyone but God
(or whatever you prefer
to call the great Mystery),
such as, “When does life start?”
or “What is the meaning of art?”
There are no set boundaries,
no term limits on genius,
where literature,
or music, or architecture
are concerned.
Imagine, then, the absurdity
of government, among a people
unwilling to lift up
their voices to demand justice
for their neighbors,
their friends,
their fellow citizens.
Look: They cannot figure out
how to feel about a painting
of a Campbell’s Soup can,
or Crayola’s new crayon colors,
or whether Disco should have died.
That is how history works:
It is a beautiful and flawed
choose-your-own-adventure
tale, and we must find a way
to decide.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: Campbell’s Soup Cans (1962), by Andy Warhol
via Wikimedia Commons
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