I’ve never dreamt about a president
but last night one came to me,
sad he couldn’t fix us.
Outside, children sat in the grass
surrounded by balloons fragments
and built a toy speedway
while their fathers crowded
around a pickup listening
to border blaster radio.
At Schmidt’s Bakery
the waitress smiled from the doorway:
Rosa with her shoulder tattoo.
Two friends met up on the street,
a young woman and an old one,
and ran into each other’s arms.
