Of Patriotism & Other Prosaic Elements

Patchwork
How do poets think              Do
they peace together words, figments
of their imagination               Stitch
them together like
a patchwork quilt?

I’m not a poet, I don’t
dream like poets do              Don’t
stitch together ideas              Mine
are more like composites
Rough

around the edges,                Raw
like graffiti splattered
across the walls you
pass on the walk back home
But

your eyes move past too bright rainbows and
ill-drawn fairies, yet
catch the trolls in cheap, fucked up pots,
passing off as
gardens

Knotted and half-eaten by vermin
who
scour the neighborhood
looking for a latch left
open

But who you
cross the street to avoid

If I was a poet, I’d write a
poem
to clean all our shit                   Wipe
it off the streets. But,
I’m not.

**

Patriotism

You tell me to hate my country

Tell me that it’s only going to bring me bad luck

The passport’s green

Crescent and star

And that I “won’t go far”

with it

But do I detox?

Do I untie?

Unwrap myself from what makes me

It

Reviled

Unknown

A terrorist

I am already

Machine gunning reds, blues and whites

Paintballing my future

Coloring it in

With words I haven’t learned

And visions I haven’t seen

Yet

“Leave when you still have the chance,”

You say

And be a deserter, I

wonder

Is this what I am teaching my unborn                    children?

It’s okay to run away

Especially if you have a green passport

Crescent and star

“It’s fine”, I’ll say

Like you.

After all, wherever you go

It’ll never be far

Enough