Picnic On A Monday In May Poem by Joe Bisicchia

I had held my insides in my hands
for sunlight to see like folded flag,
red, white and blue.

That was then. Now, long gone are my fatigues.
See, I'm dressed just like you.
Pass ketchup to me, and I'm eyeing that corn too.

Pain I've left far behind, but the memory
I'm glad here you've taken time to find,
haven't you?

Clickety-clack leaves scratch nearby sidewalk;
even fallen leaves thought long gone reemerge,
hoping to hang on like memories.

But you and I have seeds, and not just the
nearby garden varieties, to bring forth new green.
Ours are of the American Dream. Treasure boxes,

they seem. How sweet when our mayflowers
lose steam and all that's left is you and me
even if ever so brief with nothing to say

except peace.
Amazing how this backyard banquet
looks like what world would look like in peace.

None of us should ever want to just rest that way.
We wanna laugh, sing, and pass salad dressing.
Everybody should remember a burger on this day,

to properly season ribs, and to inspire the kids.
Horseshoes, footballs, swimming pools are all ready.
Let's savor that flavor of raspberry iced tea,

of hot dog, melon, and potato salad.
And above all,
that freedom to smile what hope has begotten.

After all, I'm sure you have not forgotten.


Published in The Wire, May,2012