Somewhere someone's uncle or father,

a man wearing sandals and khaki shorts

who says "back in my day" far too often,

is on the grill. He is watching the food

like he's afraid it'll change its mind

about being a meal and decide to run off

when no one's looking. The kids are playing

a game that they made up themselves

and changing the rules every five minutes.

Their smiles are so big, you can fit history

inside of them and still have room for right

now and the future.

The adults hate all the new music,

but still want the teenagers

to teach them the dances. The Cupid Shuffle

is common ground and the wobble

is a peace treaty signed by both generations.

There are no rallies today, no blood

on this street, no hashtags here, but there is

barbecue, potato salad and greens. The only

tears you will see

is when someone lifts the foil

and all the mac and cheese is finished.