raison d’etre
the children have come home,
unhappy and smiling as always
no matter what they come home to.
wash hangs from a line;
soda is substituted for potatoes;
relevance falls down the stairs and
aftershave smells like boot black.
he flies an american flag, most
likely to remind himself what country he lives in.
i suppose it’s hard to remember even simple things
when news channels encourage a bumper-sticker
mentality. we’ve talked. we’ve bloviated.
other times, one-word sentences passed for
conversation. the last time we talked, i said,
“don’t give me that patriot bullshit. that’s
tired, man. really tired.” there wasn’t much
point in saying it again.
there’s a large oak tree in the backyard
loaded with nests and swings. a
woman who seldom leaves the house. maybe
his wife. maybe his mother. maybe the children
aren’t his. maybe a robin flying backwards means
the earth has stopped revolving. maybe it will be
dizzy when it lands. i need to drive a bit and pick up
a paper to see what day it is. maybe the hours
are moving like the robin. but the day doesn’t
matter here where so many have to remind
themselves where they live. look at all the
televisions, never off; all the flags fluttering
in the same direction. i don’t know if the earth
has reversed itself or not but i’m having
difficulty recognizing simple things: what used
to be thought of as sanity. there’s this flipping
in the breeze. underwear, tee-shirts, white sheets,
flags. snapping to the crackle of fireworks that never end.