The Flags, and How We Waived Them
We shed an inevitable trace
of learning when we dropped that rag,
but without that knowledge we
could now succumb to vindication.
The consequence of that desire was the skyline,
and it hung, presidentially there, mocking
our tattered clothing and our seasonal discontent,
embittered in the ash of snowfall.
Caught in this new television, metaphor,
we were still unable to refrain
from understanding, and so we tried instead
to sing the hymns that came easily from memory.
All static and shiver, we now had a new urge,
similar to the ones of before. Picking up the shaft
of that colonial heft, we lifted the skirt
from the floor and stabbed the post into the air.
And then the song, newly electric, became again engaged.
O what a great country to learn to despise so and to love again.