not supposed to be used as a napkin
to be coated with red blood ketchup

or yellow mustard custard from a dead
dog's bun

though it is, and while flown at half staff for a fallen hero, some cool cat on a Harley has it between his legs,

the stars and stripes a candy coating for his gas tank

but that guy will sure let you know
he's a prideful ******' part of the Patriot Guard,

trailing behind a casket and grieving mama, defending them against all enemies, fantasized and domestic

so get your ***** up when a $uperstar
sings the hymn--an anthem for ****** youth,

or an inspiration for further folly,
whether it be Khe Sanh or Fallujah,

all who fall get a banner folded in precise proportion

kneeling is for "sons of *******,"

or maybe a medic under fierce fire trying to save a buddy,

who didn't make it through the "perilous fight," and  gives less than a **** who sits or stands

as for me, I no longer salute--long ago excommunicated from that proud command

but I guess I'll place a hand on my heart, not sure if I do so to follow the code,

or check to see if it's still beating in the land of the free, the home of the brave

so keep those flags a comin' and keep the cannon fodder drummin'

those who stand tall tomorrow, will do little to assuage the sorrow,

of those who paid for the privilege to take a knee, or sing songs mindlessly with thee or me