Thinking of Getting the Chicken Sandwich

I cannot tell why the flag is at half mast
At this Chick-Fil-A
In this suburban environment

Is it a soon to be distant, slaughtering
Of teen or a
Smattering of small
Indignities that simmer
Like a rainbow does
In the summer’s haze?

No wind here
No time here

Flag is a delta river
Drooped and gingerly
Basking in its shadows

Should we stop to reflect on
Whatever weight bears
Itself upon the depression of
Old glory?

We do not

We pass and
Get mocha coffee,
Burst ourselves through

Illusion ourselves as the remains
Lay balloons, teddy bears
For the risen,
Some 1440 miles away

Tears do not come,
For the dead
As they attach themselves
To us

As we take our caffeination
Into Target
We dismiss the bullseye

Transgressions so tender
We been driving all night
We been blowing off steam

We are apart of the
We are atrophy


Up, down the chests

17 years, 34 years, 14 years
More years,
Wiped clean

Clean is not for the
About 320 million,
Trudging through
A winter
Of haphazard

How long should we not
Be able to tell,
About masts
About what half means?

At each night’s impetus,
Wrap the flag up and down
According to human created
Flag rules

Bury it in purple waves
Of waving, wavering grain
Float it upon seas to shining seas

Take a moment to
Take in
The holy nature of
What will someday
Gleam as an
Manifest destiny