America readies for its new corral
while elsewhere patriots kill their way to truth
One sticky flag guns down another
The flagpole sticks with blood
Between golf and fishing he sees the recent poll
and how when guns and deaths were flashing like an ad
respect went up and TV made a mint
Fearing, he swaggers. The crowd’s muzzle and pebble fade
His cabled mind, reeling a polluted catch,
opts to clear the barn
and send the Christmas kids to plough the wounded down
to smooth the twitchy rag white ditch with tanks
(The odd untidy charred arm can be cut)
He charts across the course now
furrowing an aluminium club, and swings
and squints into vacation sun
Vietnam could recede, he tees, and failure
and Boy the country thought as one then
tipped and vacuumed on TV’s dish
His pretzel heart wheels into resolve on the ninth hole
and springs from the buggy for the news