[Newspoetry] Philly Kerry Rally

[William Gillespie]

Newspoem 24 September 2004
In the baking asphalt
we stand in line with
college students of some leftward
bent. "Register to vote in
Pennsylvania?" "Dude! Go to
Iraq!" shouts a woman to anyone who seems to be endorsing the 
opposition. Young, beautiful, shabbily-dressed, generally unathletic 
pro-choicers, Democrats, potheads. & me & Scott, all of the above. I 
have a bronchial infection. It might be the last warm day of the year. 
Multitudes. The line barely moving, stretching endlessly ahead. 
Redwhiteblue balloons hang above a park. Is there a sense of political 
solidarity here? or more of a decisive splintering. Idealists and 
opportunists alike work the crowd, accruing signatures, selling 
buttons. WHEN CLINTON LIED, NOBODY DIED. Suddenly a flock of Bush 
sycophants erupt in a chorus of "four more years." This is the site 
then of ideological conflict. Or how ideological is it, really? But 
what if something happens? In this trampled park, some conflagrations. 
As I am admiring redwhiteblue balloons that seem somehow oppressively 
spherical one of them pops and I stumble. U2 from PA. My main 
motivation to jog is to practice running for my life. Did you ever want 
to be pretty and right? A city crowds around this campus, a Sheraton 
looming over these assembled young democrats. Many of us apparently 
patient and content to be kept waiting.
Another balloon pops. Paul Wellstone.
Will I be able to see him when he speaks? Will the PA amplify his aura? 
Bare shoulders and a camcorder. Should have worn my sandals. A person 
has started speaking from an unseen podium, riling the crowd. From our 
position the amplifier is followed a half-second later by an echo 
rebounding from a college building. Unintelligible, invisible, the 
ferocity of the oration is compelling but self-defeating given the 
acoustics. Scott points out where to look to see the stage. "Go get me 
bin Laden, if you don't already have him stashed away as an election 
stunt." A repeated refrain is especially rhythmic with the 
reverberation. "This election is about jobs." I want this election to 
be about war, the next election about jobs. We work our way up through 
Democratic elected officials as each says a few words. We reach 
congress and finally we hear it: "cowboy diplomacy." The crowd goes 
wild, and speaker is astute, continuing: "Iraqitize Iraq." John, not 
Dick. Now the guy is campaigning. A mention of the NRA provokes booing. 
A field of erect signs, a sense of being on TV, huge balloons lodged in 
trees. Basic dignity for every person in America. Pro-choice, cheer, 
pop. The heat is smothering. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the stage. 
39 days left.
Among the ideas taken as given by today's speakers:
1. The government should serve its constituency.
2. Dick Cheney is a profiteering war criminal.
3. Texas is a wasteland.
Words, not birds. Even a confusing syntax may provoke applause if 
performed with precisely ascending emphasis. I am weak and sit. A field 
of sneakers. When the bomb goes off the bodies of the undergraduates 
will absorb its impact and I may be saved from blindness or 
decapitation. But in the ensuing riot I will have to be prepared to 
drag Scott to safety. A chord suggests it is almost Kerry's turn. What 
if an American presidential candidate chose a mode of music other than 
rock? Don't worry, be happy. What inexplicable thoughts lurk in the 
skulls about? How inextricable is paranoia from the American mindset? 
Fear of deprivation can suffice for progressive thought, fear of death 
for an anti-war stance. Springsteen. A distant candidate rolls up 
powder blue shirtsleeves, high-fives someone, waves. There he is: crux 
of destiny? compromise? or a losing presidential candidate of 
negligible historic consequence? He leans down and palms Democrats in 
the inner ring. And still someone else's turn to speak. Metonymy: Kerry 
will not go to Iraq without his friends and allies. It would have been 
more truthful to say "Kerry will not go to Iraq." Will KErry save us, 
making this notebook a historic document? Is the honey-voiced Edwards 
up there somewhere? Will we be able to hear Kerry say a few words 
before we get a parking ticket? Sitting sick in the grass in the hot 
sun among students, I am falling asleep. Noise to signal ratio. Kerry 
is for the middle class, the speaker says, Bush is for the upper class. 
The lower class has been left out of the discussion. The language is 
sick of me. Kerry is still gesticulating at the crowd and perhaps it is 
a peace sign he holds up. From this distance I cannot tell.