Flag
Feb 6 2014


My badly weathered flag
proclaims neglect.
As if a proud nation
had lost its way,
its troops routed, and fleeing
in miserable disarray.

Its tattered edge
that used to snap sharply,
like a freshly laundered sheet
wind-whipped, saluting smartly.
Its saturated red
that used to blush brightly,
as if flushed
with patriotic zeal.

The sun has drained it of life
the wind
torn it to ribbons,
hanging limply
in a gloomy sky.
Like an old soldier
who refuses to die,
slowly fading away.

What about citizenship, duty
national pride?
The home-owner's rite
of keeping up appearances?
Has it, too, had its spirit sapped
as merciless winter
drags on?
It looks that way
flaccid, and listless,
when even the breeze
seems indifferent.

When I buried the wires, I bought a giant flag
for the surplus hydro pole.
But in a hard winter
the rigging is stiff with ice
the turnbuckle frozen.
So, like all the other chores
the flag is on hold
until the cold lets up.

Nothing to be done
until April's here.
Or summer, or fall
or spring next year.