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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