When I close my eyes I see the caisson carrying John Fitzgerald Kennedy. I see his brother Bobby lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. I see Martin Luther King crumble on the balcony. When I close my eyes I see another Black man shot in the back. I see the twin towers come down. I see the dead bodies on the fields in Viet Nam. I see the maimed come home from Iraq and Afghanistan. When I close my eyes I see the homeless family huddled over the grate for warmth. I see the twelve-year-old girl sitting alone on a bench, waiting to have someone take the baby out of her that her daddy put there. When I close my eyes I see the woman in the wheelchair being harrassed by a group of bored teenage boys. I see the President-elect mimicking the disabled reporter. When I close my eyes I see a lovely woman walking down a street in front of a construction sight where men had paused from their work to whistle and call out what they would like to do her, and I hear our President-elect brag that women let him grab their pussies. When I cose my eyes I see the child’s father carry bottled water up the stairs to his Flint home for his family but it’s too late for his child. When I close my eyes I see people stranded on their roof tops in New Orleans and a body floating face down in flood water. When I close my eyes I see the angry face of the President-elect. I see his crowd raise their fists in the air shouting, “Lock her up!” I see the the President-elect receiving too warm a welcome from the President. When I close my eyes I see the caisson carrying John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Weeks away the President-elect becomes President and the towers fall and the dead bodies come home and the family huddles at the grate for warmth and the caisson rolls down Pennsylvania Avenue.