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
And unfurls itself with such fury that the wind,
In disbelief and shame
But the flag, flying high from the victory
As another wind approaches.