We mingled with the masses, broke bread with the burly.
It was a Memorial Weekend of miscreants. The sky gave us
puddles, wet wood. It was the domain of the monster truck,
of dogs named Chunk. In the few places not trampled,
lemonweed and Lomatium. Lupine.
It was an American holiday. Dynamite and Coors.
In the morning, a few smoldering fires,
a few limp flags.
I didn't write or read a word of poetry.