As her back bends,
and her pelvis tilts,
I imagine I feel,
in every muscle
and bone,
her pain.
In my mind,
Libby and Chatty
hit the court
to duke out
an answer—
Perhaps it’s time
you get
into the game.
To give up,
for tights of red,
white and blue,
gown
and crown.
Your torch
for a globe,
or,
as seen from space,
the blue marble.
You’re asking me
to yield symbols
of tradition,
though I’m not sure
I ever knew
what the gown
meant.
Libby,
it’s time.
We need you
in action—
postured,
say,
as if taking
a jump shot.
Really?
Like up on
one leg,
the other bent.
Right arm
at full stretch?
Exactly.
What do I stand for?
Libby,
you need a new
rallying cry.
Something like:
America—
Reach
for the stars.
Like on my T-shirt,
front and back.
Right.
Not Resist—
but Join?
Yes.
Libby,
you know
the masses.
This time around,
not yearning
to be free—
but to score.
A win for all,
shore to shore,
and across
the heartland.
If not a statue,
Chatty,
what do I call
myself?
The Spirit
of Liberty,
calling,
leading all,
near and far,
our collective,
humanity,
to victory.
Chatty,
quick now,
pass me
the ball!
