On Saturday mornings, I used to eat manifestos with my almond milk and wheaties,
dress myself in cargo pants and protest slogans,
and line the streets with my causes like I was wallpapering a child’s room with bedtime stories:
Once upon a time, we built a perfect world
where spring smelled like Prius
where the mayor and I went for free trade coffee on Tuesday mornings,
exchanging stories about faraway places we once saved and
the moral is…
Divest from Israel, kids, it’s
time to play Capture the Carbon Dioxide Flag
and if we don’t Ban Bloomberg, then he’ll
play Stop, Drop, and Frisk with us.
At college, they taught me that I could change the world if I just bought enough colored chalk
and posted enough facebook statuses
and stomped through the streets screaming about topics I didn’t understand,
and ate enough kale,
and burst enough bubbles.
They told me I’d win if I could shout louder than those who had better things to do
Oh, those were the good ole days.
those were the days.