This

Over 200 years,
And the bombs
Have never stopped
Bursting in air.
And my
Daughter asked
Last Tuesday:
“What does ‘jingoism’
mean?”
I opened the
window
On the fireworks,
The flagsucking,
Blood-soaked
Celebrants,
The burning flesh
On the grills,
Making a pleasing
Odor in the
Nostrils
Of The Lord
Of war,
The Lord of
Corpses and killers,
Of brain eaten
Zombies.
“This,” I said.
“Sweetheart, it
Means all of
This.”