On Election Night

in the small bungalow
we liked to call The Church,

we watched the election
play out on info graphs and charts,
America transformed from a nation
of three hundred million to
a battlefield of reds and blues

at first, we laughed and talked
of what we thought America was,
a nation of opportunity,
a nation of acceptance,
a nation of immigrants.

But we remembered it was
a nation of racism,
a nation of hatred,
a nation of fear,
too.

We didn’t have a candidate—
there was no one who stood
for the misfits, who stood
for the America we lusted for.
The one they promised us
every morning when we placed
our hand on our hearts
in school.

At half past midnight
the map was mostly red,
the blues had been chased
out to the coasts where
they looked to surrender soon.

The hatred of America
peaked its head from Lady
Liberty’s gown and grabbed her
torch, throwing it down into the
Hudson blue.

We didn’t talk after that
the room fell to silence
as we swallowed the truth
that the America we believed in
had faded away

but maybe, it was only a pipedream
to those who could benefit from
its systems
to ones who’s complexions
bought them the life they promised
us in school.

By Damian Rucci

Biography:

Damian Rucci is a writer and poet from New Jersey whose work has appeared recently in Eunoia Review, Beatdom, Yellow Chair Review, and Indiana Voice Journal. He is the founder and host of Poetry in the Port, one of the Damned Poets, and the author of Tweet and Other Poems (MDP 2016), Symphony of Crows (2015), and The Literary Degenerate Blog.