Rockwellian Saturday Evenings



Written Memorial Day 2008

Flag draped boxes on cross Atlantic flights make silent return trips to sleepy small town American neighborhoods resembling Rockwellian Saturday evenings. Towns where children learn to hunt each other with paintball guns in their worn out thrift-store cammies and go to church on Sunday mornings before basking in the midday sun at the picnic tables of backyard barbeques where the men drink Coors Light and flip burgers on grills as the women soak sexily in pools sipping margaritas and talking about the tragedy that is the war. The tragedy that is the war that might call on their working class sons and daughters to serve over in a land that no one in their town can even find on a map. And the children throw horse shoes as the clank of near misses brings out thoughts of almost, thoughts of the hand grenades yet to comeā€¦

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About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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