Living in America

Maybe it was when Clint Eastwood said he cried the night Barack Obama was elected (in reference to his being the first Black president) that something inside me said I should leave.

But it was as balloons and glitter fell from the ceiling and the pulsating chords of James Brown’s song from Rocky IV “Living in America” bellowed through the arena that I realized I know longer cared.

At all.

Turning to walk out in disgust (and thinking the GOP might actually have hired Brown to perform the song were he still alive) an attractive woman smiled at me and said, “Aren’t you so glad! America’s back!”

Swatting away a balloon and removing glitter that had rudely irritated my eye, I replied coolly, “You know it!”

Taking my jacket off, flipping it over a shoulder, and callously loosening my tie, I left the arena thinking to myself, “I know how Ivan Drago felt.”

To paraphrase Mr. Brown, “I don’t feel good.”

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