Buck Fush

Sitting in traffic yesterday, the words "Buck Fush," managed to make themselves visible through the heavy coating of salt on the car in front of me.
A woman and her son wait for the bus. A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
What will they do with their anger, the Buck Fushers???
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
What will they do with their disdain for the human rights violator when Barack is slow to close Gitmo?
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
What will they do with their contempt for domestic spying when Barack continues it?
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Where will their anger over the Iraq war go - the immoral, illegal war must end the moment he becomes President - when Barack takes his time?
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.