Like a garbage truck, you mash, my head, as the narrative of love, and nerve, traverses my body, bracing, against unwelcome supplications, tattering my dreams.  Like a stealthy and essential foe, you draw my sweat, converting my shirt, to a soaked mop, aborting my run, for office, of this land.   A young man spoke, of discomfort, with the flag, and you flew, to condemnation.  But pride is empty, and loyalty, should not be accorded, to a place, within borders, on a map, obsoleted, by Waze.  Please appreciate the paradox – callous inhumanity, is the bottom, of this box.  Please join me, in remaining seated, when they sing, of bursting bombs.  Please refrain, from the mindless, recitation of prayer, once a year.  I believe, not, in one, who wishes, to be worshipped.