Sunday, June 3, 2018



there were
only a couple of them
originally in the neighborhood
bumper stickers mostly
“trump that bitch”
“make america great again”
pasted onto big huge cars
the kind of gilded rides that need so much fuel
they caused wars in the middle east
they were driven by good people
misunderstood people
salt of the earth
the working class
but these were people who lived in big homes
with big gates
homes that cost a least a cool million
these patriots
vanguards of the almighty dollar
with an american flag
hanging on every porch
who drove their kids to private school
who always had the scent of lighter fluid and dead meat
coming out of their backyards in the summer
the kind of good people
who sprinkled their lawns with water
on rainy days
and always had a carload of mexican men
doing landscaping work
people who put on airs on sunday morning
sitting in pews lying to themselves
and their god
eventually they were all over the place
signs in nearly every single yard
“lock her up”
“hillary for prison”
so many trump 2016 signs
popping up like nazis in weimar cabarets
that i began to feel
like a stranger in my own neighborhood
couldn’t help but hate
the old codgers walking down the street
in their flag hats
in their flag shirts
walking nationalist symbols of the end days
going to church
to shit on jesus
wrapping themselves up
in the flag
and little else
i began to hate the flags
saw what they really symbolized
white supremacy
the patriarchy in full bloom
exceptionalism….for a few
saw those red white and blue trump signs
and knew that all was lost
and now that he’s been in there
in the highest office
in the land
500 days of tyranny
that we may
never recover from
they have taken their signs down
for now
the bumper stickers
have changed back to sports teams
and shit about their kids
for now
they wear their treason
in cheap smiles
and salutations
on street corners talking about the big game
thinking that all is forgotten
all is forgiven
still getting up early in the morning
to hang those fucking flags
on their porches
like hollow rotting victory ribbons
like colorful nooses
flapping in the soft stench of rot
carried along in a hot summer breeze

--John Grochalski

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