Is America great?

Do I step over storm drains at night and, in my mind, see my feet falling through

because someone once showed me how small I am?

and here I am stepping over storm drains as I cross the street

because he threw me over his shoulder. Now his brother walks behind me. Nonchalant. Not thinking of me

when I can’t stop thinking of him. Because if I stop thinking of him I’ll be thrown over his shoulder. Or thrown down on the storm drain. Because he can throw me around

because the other hes and hims have thrown me around

to remind me how small I am.

Small enough to slip through the grates and be safer in the sewers

Than walking down the street. On the side where I live.

Because he could be my neighbor, my student, my president

Walking down the street where I live

And repelling me out across the storm drains

Is America great?

Do I fall asleep and dream of standing across from him

In a classroom, a grocery store, an office

While he thinks about his day

And I think about the way he held me

Down on the carpet

With my arms braced on the ground as I push and I push

And yes, I do lift, but I can’t bench 220

So he presses lower and lower until I can’t even be the only one occupying the space of my own body

And he schools me in my size (though I never asked him to) as he shrinks me down into the carpet

Repels me towards a space where I’d be safer, in the crawlspace, a few feet beneath me

And my mind goes to the crawlspace and my eyes go to the attic

Until I see him in the office, in the classroom, at the grocery store

And my chest burns as I feel him

Pressing me into the carpet

Pushing me towards the crawlspace

Repelling me across the storm drain

Where my ankle twists when my heel sinks down

And I fall

And he shouts

And I’m trapped for a moment

And I run away afraid

Because I have to assume he’s not okay

Even if he’s free. Even if he’s brave.