Times Square, Friday, September 13 Walking east on Times Square (though I think I'm walking west)
a suit and tie horde of synchronized swimmers
trap me in their wake
my sweater is hot,
it's hard to breathe when you're swimming
an aesthetically trite animation of a pristine flag,
cleaned of covert stains save for the bloody stripes
ripping open its conscience
curls in shame,
waves like a Ms. America contestant to those devoid of brains,
hordes have neurons but no command center of their own
so they accept impulses that rain
from the stately Panasonic TV screen.
I suddenly feel nauseous,
run to the nearest McDonald's
leave my disgust unflushed
for you and red white yellow but not blue Ronald
to see.