Poetry Wednesday #48

By Jnn13 [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons

Independence Day, or thoughts on the 4th of July

We are the conquerors,

The conquered,

The slavers,

The enslaved,

The Privileged,

the poor.

We are the huddled masses,

and those who bar them from the door.

We range in color from the darkest browns

to palest pinks,

And our world is not colorblind.

We make up a nation that is less a melting pot,

and more a large tureen of stew

With the scraps thrown away—

Forgotten.

The air tonight is thick with smoke,

Smelling an equal of gunpowder, barbecue, tobacco, and marijuana.

The pop! and BANG!

of celebratory bombs

Seems unending.

Someone tonight is going to lose a hand

Someone tonight is going to be shot by accident
Someone tonight is going to die

as even bullets obey the law of gravity

And being blasted into the air

by the careless and carefree

2nd Amendment loving

self-proclaimed "freedom fighters"

Or perhaps the simply drunken gun-owner

wishing to look badass in front of family and friends

Shoots his gun into the air

forgetting that the bullet must needs come down again.

It doesn't matter.

It won't come down on them,

But a block or two over,

An adjacent neighborhood,

Where they won't have to see the carnage.

Still,

Fireworks are pretty,

Barbecue is tasty,

And everyone feels a pinch of patriotic pride.

We celebrate.

And don't think of the consequences.