here the sunshine patriot, bright and bleached –
they plucked the stars
to hang them from your chest. the rest are
gone, hidden by light pollution
and concrete skies.
your eyes reflect the blank face
of stopped clocks; steps from the car,
but winter hides in
the cold metal of the trigger
a bang –
it echoes in fireworks, spatters the street with
blue white red red red.
the stutter of a gun,
or just a backfiring car?
sunshine man melts in a puddle of gaudy red,
the colour of sticky ice lollies
here the newscaster, weeping tirelessly
for the camera.
“he was our country,” he says, and wasn’t he just?
back alleys and sunshine and
wanting to go back, wanting
to hide in the past.
and here the politicians, mourning loudly
into crisp white handkerchiefs. oh, how i wish we could
freeze time, draw grimaces in markers
on their painted faces
and watch them point fingers.
they use pretty words
heroic, or tragic
and pat their sweaty backs.
sunshine man bleeds into the gutter
red white blue
the colour of freedom.
Yup, a poem about Marvel's (wonderful) "The Death of Captain America". Apologies both to Cap and the Winter Soldier, who, it seems, I've made into his murderer. Kudos if you caught the Thomas Paine reference(s)!