On the eve of Friday the thirteenth
fifty people fell from the sky burning
No, this is not a metaphor
The black voice recorder
was unable to capture the color
the roman candle in suburbia
the red white and blue of their burning
An American flag in the neighbors yard,
marked with soot,
furiously moved by the winds
of change.
*
Yes, we can
imagine ourselves there -
singled out by God
his huge immaterial hand
bitch slapping the whole lot of us into silence
but if you claim you’re free
of this wrath,
you tell me
are you brave?
Written in blood,
first class
like a constitution,
the name of a man’s mistress
on the back of the seat he melted to.
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