Tonight's Poet Corner: Old Glory's Edge

Old Glory's Edge
by Belinda Roddie

In this mad, mad, mad world,
we cling to iced tea from Starbucks
and original dessert recipes on Facebook,
and Star Wars memes on May the 4th.
We sing along, loudly, with one another
on video calls and try desperately
to ignore the lag. Echoes of our
own melodies in personal choirs.

When we return to school,
the desks will smell like
abandonment issues. And
the whiteboards will carry memories
on their faces. Memories
immune to wipes and sprays.
Now scratched out in Arial font.

Meanwhile, legs atrophy
when crossed too long in
meditation or prayer. Up north,
the swarms of orange striped beasts
are amassing in rotten wood. A man
screams in smoke signals as his
house belches up pipe bombs
in Colorado. The angry insects
scream for beaches, for haircuts.

Herd Immunity finds its straw hat
stolen by Eugenics, who wears it
after setting fire to its brim. Freedom
is traded for one's life, though once
that life is sliced into pieces by a
cardboard sign, that freedom doesn't
exactly retain its value on the market,
(unless the one still living hocked your life
instead of theirs - they craved manicures).

We want our their rights, they howl. Lord,
how the hungry wolves howl
for their blessed rights to consume. Never
mind their wounded brethren who
open the gates for them, then close
their eyes and wait to be trampled.

In the midst of this, I wonder
how you can pray, how you
can ruminate, how you can even
sleep. It's getting warmer, but
the chill is still chewing on your
ribcage. Where is your God now?
Where is your God now? Where
is your sweet, wonderful god now?