Saturday, July 4, 2009

Poem for Saturday, July 4, 2009


America, Your Skies!

America, your skies
are
      roaring, clashing with
colors and chemistry

(the blackbird perched on the
 wire was terribly startled)

America, you're two hundred
thirty-three years old
today
        (what would your founding
          fathers say/think now?)

each of your own has
shed blood for you
wept for you
some died for you

we die
when you die, America

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