A hundred hundred hundreds.

It took for George Washington
And the Continentals, from
            Boston to New York;
From McConkey’s Ferry
            To Trenton
            On Christmas night
In the first year.

Who fought for liberty
And then for Union
            Against secession,
Against abominations,
            Like tariffs
            And human bondage,
In the next first year.

That pile up in looming heaps,
In books of fickle history,
            Away from the birth
In spite of institutions–
            Like freedoms–
            Bought then forgot
In the third first year.
 
A hundred hundred hundreds
Since the first year’s
Celebrations and emendations
            And self-righteous
            Back-patting;
Paid in: 
             Millions of miles marched,
                        From Democracy to Federalism,
             Men lost,
                        In wars at home and distant,
             And words forsaken,
                        On burned and yellowed parchment.
             Two hundreds barely,
                        More or less,
Since the first year.
 
Now tell me about a billion.
Now tell me about a trillion:
A million millions.