day SEVEN HUNDRED and SEVENTY

these chicken wings don’t run

the back

of the waiter’s t-shirt

has a tattered american flag on it

and it says

if you love america

you’ll love this bar

but if i’m sitting in here

then surely the two ideas can’t be intertwined

i don’t love america

to tell the truth

i don’t really like this bar

with its american flags everywhere

and its corny fallen military hero motif

ten television sets

half of them set to espn

the other half set to fox news

and every table and bar stool

full of doughy white dudes

dressed like they’re off to the big game

or set for a nazi rally

no, i don’t like this place

but i love their buffalo wings

and i'm so hungry
for all i care
the waiter could be wearing a t-shirt
with uncle sam's

sinister, stupid, tired-ass glaring

back at me

one menacing, geriatric finger

painted electric orange and dripping goodness

pointing at me

as if to say

listen, you commie wimp

these here chicken wings

they sure as shit

don’t fucking run
  

which means

i can fake being a patriot

at least until my belly is filled

and i could swallow lady liberty whole

if she came waltzing on in here
dressed only in hot sauce.

--John Grochalski