It was fifth grade on a crooked path
from the playground to the school
when his fist came around from behind
and caught me straight in the eye
Poems I’ve memorized and songs I’ve sung
sometimes sing me in closeness
But that punch, that punch I’d be lying
if I said I didn’t know that swing by heart
The overturners of Roe, the January 6th “patriots”
the anti-immigrants securing the border
the gun lovers masturbating their weapons
the pray-ers of long prayers at the 50 yard line…
They’re sucker punching you
They’re stealing your pride
They hope you’ll fear the playground
and the classroom back inside
But real patriotism, love of country
—this is my country—
has always, like the Israelites of old
been known in the confessing [recording] of wrong-doing
Like Lincoln at the battlefield whose general said
“Thankfully God is on our side.”
To which Lincoln replied. “That I do not know
but I hope we are on God’s side.”
—this is my country—
So I will walk proudly from the playground
to the classroom with a bruised and sore eye
and use that eye to see this nation clearly
I will say I love it as I love all nations
I will say I love it because it has [sometimes] [not been] satisfied
with nostalgic racist versions of itself
—this is my country—
I will say I love it with my whole soul
and put my whole soul in the breach
between all those who sucker punch
all those standard bearers of false flags
and the people for whom this nation stands
—this is my country—
“your tired, your poor, your huddled masses”
—this is my country—