2020 Hour #7:  Fistfight

 

Outside my window, a flag flies at the top of a building

And it plays a violent game of chicken with the wind.

When a breeze turns down my street

It transforms, shedding its innocence and churning into a reckless teenager

Testing boundaries against all in its midst.

So this flag takes a particular hit;

The wind comes right up to it, gets in its face,

And dares it to back down.

Get out of my f*%$n way

But the flag won’t cower

Instead, against all odds, it fights,

Extending a punch from the edges of its stretched fabric

Winding back, then releasing all its energy in defiance

Right punch, left punch, sometimes felled

A mass of fabric looped around itself sent back to its corner

Then, at the moment of certain defeat

It rises

And unfurls itself with such fury that the wind,

In disbelief and shame

Retreats.

But the flag, flying high from the victory

Remains vigilant

As another wind approaches.