Op/Ed Poetry

Poetry: My bugle, my flag

The state suggests I bring in my bird

feeders.

If I don’t want to find myself

staring into two dark eyes.

If I have enough courage.

To step onto my porch.

With my bugle. My flag.

To make of this morning a spring

parade. Enough American 

noise. To scare its shadow

away. 

His or hers. I don’t want to

be able to say.

Come closer.

Letting fear take

its course.

The space between us.

My house and a den

back there

in the woods.

Or miles from here

on Mount Independence.

Where the stone reads

“On This Date

Our Men Battled like Bears.

Taking Their Lives and The Life

of Our Nation

Into Their Own Hands.” 

Without having to note

the Flickers and Bluebirds

foraging the ground

for sunflower seeds.

Someone like me forgot

to bring into  

his tent. Pushing back

even then 

on what the state was

suggesting. 

To keep safe.

To do what could be 

needed

for the common good.  

Gary Margolis

Cornwall

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