This prompt, along with own mournful attempt to hang onto shreds of patriotism in the face of increasing shame at the actions of my government, and the reactions of certain friends and family members to them inspired this poem.
Standing on the seashore
Staring at the space between his fingers
The rockets, glare, shooting overhead
Trailing red in their wake
A bloody barrier cutting through the sky
He’s proud of his missing finger
For he lost it defending his country
He’s proud whenever he hears the rockets
He’s proud of who he is.
He says, “I’m not too smart
Not too fancy
I don’t understand any of the things you keep yelling about
Civil liberties or making a country great again
As far as I’m concerned
This country is still great
Our seashores are still beautiful
And I’m proud of my missing finger.
Yeah, I sometimes wonder about what’s going on these days
Mr. Gonzales used to make great tamales at the little hole in the wall in the corner
One day he and his family just left
I saw him drive off in a big truck
His wife was crying
My own little girl asked what happened to his little girl
She’s no longer in school
My little girl wanted to ask to her to come to the seashore
To watch the rockets exploding overhead
That little girl no longer lives in this town
Or in this country
Where did that little girl go?
Mine can’t stop crying
Still the rockets are beautiful
Trailing red, exploding overhead
And I’m proud of this missing finger
Which I lost protecting this country.”
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