aayounghe sits back all kerouac
with the holy city rising behind him
he is
the embodiment
of everything a lesser poet ever wanted to say
but wasn’t brave enough to write
he is
my america
he is
the way a man should wear a hat
he is
beautiful
kentucky at keeneland
thoroughbreds is full regalia
and the horses look lovely too
women in hats fine enough for the fairest lady
heels and barely there dresses
men in bow ties and plaid pastel blazers
their station in life on display
social climbing atop sugar cubes
for the mint julep
the smell of bourbon and burgoo
and a stout cigar
just another day at the races