Four Fathers
Bobby Bolt
I knew that something
Was wrong when I saw
George Washington cry.
Four fathers, four white
Fathers in the Black Hills
Pointed their faces
Through the rain and
Fog, and turned their
Hard stoned shoulders on
America. Ashamed of son
And of country, a father turns
Away. This guilt goes down easy
When you’re sixty feet tall,
And Americans go down easy
If you can make them small.
Barely six feet tall, my father
Only cries when he
Is most angry with himself.
He puts a hand in the wall
So that some air might come