War Song
Ohio slips in and out of suburban gardens
shedding grey skins,
until
native red and green feathers
crash out of soil and sky.
Climatic airs stamp on thunderclouds.
Painted for war, it leaks blood onto old muskets.
Tomahawks clash above Walmart shoppers.
In the sparse woods, it smokes,
and it does not give a damn
for nicotine gum.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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