My poppies bloom on patriotic days.
The orange ones burst out on Decoration Day.
The reds and pinks show forth on Independence Day.
They put on their church hats and calmly out-class the trashy, pushy hollyhocks.
The flower bed is riven with striving and sharp elbows.
The color and fun and sweetness up in the breeze conceals the power-play below.
Roots creep under unmarked, unspoken lines.
Seeds spill as death overtakes.
The Summer's polished fanfare is hot brass and whistling chrome.
The strings of Autumn tune and hum offstage.
The sun has varied tastes, Sousa today, Beethoven tomorrow.
The poppies proclaim the founding day, the poppies have spoken.
Let us don our poofy pink hats!
Let us march down Main in the bright heat.
The King is irrelevant! The King is irrelevant!
God save his sorry arse.
The universe is alive! The universe is alive!
The light, air, water and earth survive!
We sparkle for a half-breath in forever
and our ashes sprinkle down on the land and on the water.
Strike up a march, pound drums!
Swim and sing with the crowd, love them.
Celebrate while you may.
Gather, spin, spend and go.
When we are gone, our seeds cannot speak.
Gather, spin, spend and go.
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