Somewhere someone's uncle or father,
a man wearing sandals and khaki shorts
who says "back in my day" far too often,
is on the grill. He is watching the food
like he's afraid it'll change its mind
about being a meal and decide to run off
when no one's looking. The kids are playing
a game that they made up themselves
and changing the rules every five minutes.
Their smiles are so big, you can fit history
inside of them and still have room for right
now and the future.
The adults hate all the new music,
but still want the teenagers
to teach them the dances. The Cupid Shuffle
is common ground and the wobble
is a peace treaty signed by both generations.
There are no rallies today, no blood
on this street, no hashtags here, but there is
barbecue, potato salad and greens. The only
tears you will see
is when someone lifts the foil
and all the mac and cheese is finished.