Patriarch Tics

This is a response to the poem "Patriotics" by David Baker for my Creative Writing class. It became something completely different than what I planned on writing.

"Our fore fathers for fathers for the 4th of July. No, not for the ones who light fireworks in their hands and blow their fingers off, for the ones that helped found America. The 4th of July that Americans have since bastardized with bright lights and idiotic stares. What a better way to commemorate the founding of “our great nation,” than celebrate with a festival of war. The whistles of a “piccolo pete” firework the sound of a bomb being dropped. Only the dogs fear it. Our neighbors watch and clap and “ooh” and “aww.” Only $59.99 to buy a box of bullets, missiles, shells, bombs. We give the children sticks radiating with fire. Igniting tiny, little arsonist minds, lighting the fuse, watching the flame run across their mind, reaching the base and erupting with “Learn to love it, the smell of detonation.” Their minds wiped clear of all thoughts of danger. Brainwashing like rain washing the rain of fireworks’ brains off the asphalt.

What else do the patriots spill blood, both their own and their enemies, for? The rights that the Constitution writers write, right? For freedom, for the freed…um, us? Us a USA in the twentieth century whose minds don’t mind the warning labels. Whose thoughts thought to light five firecracker bags at once in their neighbor’s mailbox. Whose parents in this “great nation” grate; nay, shun their kids who steal the box of matches and sip from the half empty beer cans scattered on mown lawns. Whose heads mourn celebrities but the discovered bruised body of a beaten babe is forgotten once the 5 o’clock news ends. The fore fathers fought for the fathers who kill their daughters and for the fathers who point their daughters’ eyes to the sky and talk about “patriotism.”

Everyone stands quiet as the “big finale” explodes the sky. Mouths hang open at bright lights and loud noises. Their “oohs” ooze drool and their drools rules this “great nation.” Intelligence lowers with each burst, crack, whistle. The work of fire where only fire works. Hypnotized by flames, maybe this country really has gone to Hell. Have an extra serving of canned baked beans with your processed lips and assholes. The BBQ of hellfire.

A fourth of July anecdote: A five year old boy joins in a pie-eating contest. His father pounds a brewskie and laughs while his obese mother cheers on. On the way home the kid complains about a stomach ache. The 400 pound smoking mother scolds her son for eating too much. A critical hippo and her alcoholic husband raise an American.

Our poor, preachy papers praise phony intellect. The extent of my political knowledge doesn’t go beyond a few famous quotes of dead presidents. Simply say something controversial and people credit you as intelligent if you make it abstract enough to be open for discussion. Make the paper sound smart and the message won't come off as pretentious. But the wit of words goes both ways. The fine line between obnoxious and noxious is crossed when not considering the definition of words. Our fore fathers of this great nation cheered the finishing of a document while we cheer face-stuffing and colorful gunpowder. They cheered words and we cheer smoke and mirrors. A diminishing attention span runs rampant ‘round America. The amazement at a quick flash and some sparkle a direct result. As well as a response paper as loose fitting as a triple XL hat on a tiny headed baby. As well structured as the previous metaphor. David Baker would be proud.

And somewhere, a girl is being beaten to death in this great nation."