The last of the fires had been extinguished
and we had left the books required
to teach the flock.
We had dinner in a haze
but asked the crustaceans
for forgiveness before
pouring butter
over their boiled shells
and the meat
before stabbing
at our plates.

Over coffee and dessert,
we begged mercy
for the labor
required to harvest the wheat,
to grown and pluck the beans,
to smelt the silver for the dinnerware,
and the women to bear the laborers
who served our courses.

Who were we but God-fearing Patriots?