January 6th, 2021
Those fucking flags
Navy with white font
Make me nauseous
As we pass them
On the country roads
That lead to our
Hidden paradise
I counted four today
When we went to the
Feed store
Those fucking flags
The yellow ones
With the snake
The confederate
What are they thinking, tonight?
Should I be preparing?
I suppose gun shots are normal out here
But I can’t get used to them
Yesterday I made eye contact
With a man my age
With a sticker
On his pickup truck
And when will the neighbors
Know who we are?
Can we keep them
From finding out?
I met Mike
He wants to be your buddy
He wants you to join his gun club
(We have no guns)
In my purple plaid, leggings,
hoop earrings and light beard
Who does he think I am?
Or Steve
who shot a deer who limped onto our property
And you helped him carry her away
And said you need to wash the blood
off your truck bed, pronto
and he asked, “the wife?”
And you, not dishonest, said, “yes.”
Do Mike and Steve talk
at the gun club?
Have they seen us holding hands
in your pickup
in the parking lot
of Tractor Supply?
You hug me tight
And say we’ll be just fine
I agree
that’s a lot of “what ifs”
This is our land
This is our dream
But those fucking flags
Those fucking flags
Those fucking flags
Elliott DeLine, Author 