Friday, July 08, 2005

Independence Day

You peek at me
from behind Olmec heads –
head and shoulders above
white boys
who don’t close their eyes
to be blind.

They may reject my colorfulness,
but only you left me for white,
burning red in the regret
of A-B-Q sun.

We race around heady questions,
juggling futures
hot as German potatoes.

Although the decision is yours,
I’m still the one
to pull you down
off the hook,
and when we call it –
Friendship: 4 p.m. –
our bubble still convulses,
so that when it finally pops,
it is still
Independence Day.

You’re red,
I’m white,
and we’re blue.

Here, baby, grab a match.
Burn this flag instead of surrender.
Help me set even this ablaze.


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