Shells whistle overhead
like the fourth of July.
A cacophonous marching band
of screaming and shouting nears.
Old veterans sit and stare,
as a jeep drives them away.
Grenades tossed like candy from a float
bounce my way.
Fingers fly and flap
like hot dogs in the sky —
my shirt is now cherry pie,
half eaten.
Here comes the prom queen
in an open sedan!
An angel of peace —
Without a pause
she drapes me with the flag.
As I sink into the ground,
the jingles of patriotism move on
leaving only me,
with the debris
in the street.
Parade on the 4th of July
an antiwar poem
