No Kings

By RW Mayer

So, Tillie. When people ask you how old you were

when you went to your first

protest demonstration—what will you tell them?

You could say that you were in the neighborhood

of 300 days old. You might also tell them

that your mother MADE you go.

Stuffed you into her backpack like a Hoagie sandwich.

But then, you seemed to like it. Your Grandpa made faces

at you to make you smile. And it worked.

Perhaps you enjoyed riding around on your mother’s back

listening to all the voices and seeing so many colorful signs.

You probably wished you could walk better than you did then,

because that green grass on the huge field looked quite inviting.

You were one of thousands in this town, millions across the nation,

showing up to say that we will not accept what is being done.

We are a melting pot of many different flavors who care about each other

and stand for a democracy that represents the people.

It’s not anger that moves us, though there is some of that.

No, it’s primarily a love of our neighbors, our fellow citizens, our school mates,

our recent arrivals. We stand to say we are together.

Our democracy deserves protection and we defend it.

You were there, Tillie.

We’ll tell you more about it

and show you pictures when

you’re older.

We were Millions.

RW Mayer grew up in Southern Oregon and has been an educator in Oregon and Washington. He lives in Seattle, Washington where he reads and writes, and fiddles with the guitar. His poetry has appeared in The Write Launch, Untenured, The Closed Eye Open, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and others.