day FIVE HUNDRED and TWENTY SEVEN

what are you proud of?

the nights are

are a wasteland of vodka and wine

in the mornings i walk it off

i pass so many homes with flags

sometimes it feels like i’m drowning

i’ve never owned anything with the flag on it

well…that’s not true

the fourth of july after 9/11

my mother bought me a u.s.a t-shirt

that i never wore

and threw away two years later

when i found it while packing to move

on my soberer mornings

or maybe it’s the i-might-still-be-a-little-bit-drunk ones

i want to knock on some patriot’s door

and ask them what’s the deal?

i want to say, hey, fellow citizen

what exactly is it that you are proud of?

what am i not getting from america that you are?

i’m sure they’ll say something

about freedom or liberty

or some other hypocritical crap

that doesn’t sound at all like willful ignorance

or they’ll do something so totally american

like threaten me with a gun

and chase me off their manicured-by-mexicans lawn

i’m willing to bet most of the people with flags

are white and old

and think they made it in this country

out of sheer drive and determination

but that might just be my prejudice showing

in truth

sometimes i wish i could walk around here at night

plucking their flags from their little lawns

and putting them all into a pile

in the middle of the street

set them on fire

and then stroll home humming the national anthem

while they all come out of their pretty homes

screaming and yelling and trying to put out the fire

of course

that’s if i can even remember the words to that stupid song

at this point.

--John Grochalski