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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Political · #1243758
A small sticker on the back bumper of a car can mean so much.
Small,
maybe five by seven.
the sticker hugs the back of a late model domestic automobile.
The edges frayed,
the dye faded,
the words barely legible:
“These colors don't run.”
An American flag looking so abused,
it would no be out of place
in Iwo-jima.

This sad, forgotten sticker,
looks to be about five years old.
Probably plastered on the vehicle
September twelfth, two thousand one.

I stare at this sorry excuse for patriotism and ask myself:
Are we really this shallow?
Are we really this egocentric?

I was there along side everyone else
on the eleventh of that month,
bowing my head in sorrow.
Shaking my head in disgust.
I was appalled, but
unlike everyone else,
I wasn't surprised.

See, I watch international news,
and I know what happens outside our borders.
People sat there staring at the television screen wondering
How the hell things like this can happen in this day and age.

And it saddens me to tell you this today
but at that moment my sorrow/anger/appallment
went out the window
and in its place an overwhelming sense of disgust for my countrymen.

Israel Palestine
India Pakistan
North Korea South Korea
China
Darfur
South Africa
Ireland
Jordan
All these places face horrible atrocities everyday!

When the cold war ended
Did we decide to move
the iron curtain?
Does it now cloak us like some ignorance inducing
catchall?
Did you think the oceans would keep us safe?
Or did you just not give a fuck about anyone else besides yourselves?

I went to high school with a girl whose last name was Assad.
White as wonder bread this girl was,
but she had to fucking change her name.
This kid I knew was as popular as can be on the tenth,
come the twelfth he was in a ambulance.
Michael Hussein.

Did your pain blind you to the actions of madmen and monsters?
Did your grief make you lose your humanity?
Did your hatred disambiguate into all peoples of a shade darker than tan?

What saddens me the most is sitting here now,
behind this late model domestic automobile
looking at this torn up, beaten, weathered, abused, forgotten, five cent piece of plastic.
And realizing
of all the symbols
that could represent America now,
this is the most accurate.
© Copyright 2007 E. G. Venancio (onceuponatime at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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