Of Thee I Sing
       

We're riding in the back of the black

limousine. They have lined

the road to shout our names.

They have faith in your golden hair

& pressed blue suit.

They have a good citizen

in me. I love my country.

I pretend nothing is wrong.

I pretend not to see the man

& his blonde daughter diving

for cover, that you're not saying

my name & it's not coming out

like a slaughterhouse.

I'm not really Jackie-O

& there isn't a hole in your head, a brief

rainbow through a mist

of rust. I love my country

but who am I kidding? I'm holding

your brains in, darling.

my sweet, sweet Jack.

I'm reaching across the trunk

for a shard of your memory,

the one where we kiss & the nation

glitters. Your slumped back.

Your hand letting go. You're all over

the seat now, deepening

my fuschia dress. But I'm a good

citizen, surrounded by Jesus

& ambulances. I love

this country. The twisted faces.

My country. The blue sky. Black

limousine. My one white glove

glistening pink—with all

our American dreams.

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Copyright © 2016 Ocean Vuong All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission