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werewolf
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his eyes lit up when he saw the flag -
it was hot swimming pool days,
beer on the job
his first rutting (a rich smell
like hot dogs, butter, hide)
on small-town carnival night
in the truck he borrowed and stole from his dad
which he got hit for hard
with the girl he borrowed from her just opening life
which he got laughed at for later.
still, after that night,
everything was fair even when it was unfair,
especially when you came from
a home or a place where even the unfairness was unfair.
He raised his hand to that flag now
and everytime he passed it -
with the force it'd take to bayonet
through man, woman, child.
He'd kill for God - but was humble
because he knew God needed no help -
how else can we be free
but to destroy our captors?
How better to show a beggar
God's closeness than to cut
him from all human charity?
Flag, God, really what mattered
was that night,
her soft and sudden pushing
returning warming
the surprise of America.
it's open for you,
manifest destiny for the strong,
compassion a tax write off.
as for the rest of humanity,
the world -
if it wasn't in your reach
it wasn't yours.
the flag could get you
what God placed,
buried in this backyard or that,
(always yours)
but only infidels would ask it to do more.
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040505
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