On Jan. 20, nearly every household across the United States watched the inauguration of President Joe Biden. Damp-haired from the shower and with cinnamon oatmeal in hand, I dropped onto the couch between my parents to watch as well. Truth be told, my family is a family of various priorities. My father came into the living room to watch Joe Biden morph into President on the 40-inch screen. My mother took a break from stirring the pot of black beans to comment on Jennifer Lopezâs hair. And I, the former high school slam poet, ate my breakfast, waiting for the inaugural poem.