home front

it lives on nostalgia, my culture

after an entrée of pride and self-righteousness

it devours romanticism like chocolate cake

and revels in slow comforts, like

denial, and isolated convictions

until it is full with blustery indignation,

tempered by impeccable manners, allowing

contradictions to flourish

absurd as these patriotic rebels as dinner guests

who sneer at the silverware but tell you it's lovely

before reminiscing on the porch over moonshine

about how wonderful life was: a century ago

it is a culture that lives

at the mercy of tradition, breathing history

and hypocrisy, because beneath the idyllic façade

the land is still seething, as the people

demand the right to bear arms