They gather on porches, in backyards filled
with the scent of lighter fluid and blood burning
on hot coals, smoke rises above swimming pools
and six-foot high fences, screams of innocence
ring through the streets, and blue grass wails
among old men's jokes and old wives' tales.

They gather for God and country in sailor suits,
dressed-blues and army-greens, the symbol
of freedom bellows from a Dogwood tree;
while bikers wear Old Glory on leather jackets
or tattooed across their shoulders, and beer
flows from cooler to hand to fist.

And they say this is what it's all about:
to live and die for the right to swear and drink,
be merry and dance in the streets, to praise
America and Democracy, while on the next block
a ****** is *****, a merchant is shot and a ******
jumps from a bridge in an attempt to fly.