Parade on the 4th of July

an antiwar poem

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.