Spawned from a memory of Eli’s 4runner.
Notes to Generation Fortunate Son
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Fuzzy flags carried off planes
no one needs to ask about.
Spare my eyes the sight
society says to itself.
Protest read aloud the writing on the wall,
a cousin, a brother, a father ties a nation
in a knot no one is sure they should be in.
Growing pains diagnosed from the comfort
of their sacrifice, 40 years later teenagers
returning from a high school lunch at Chipotle
hang out car windows, hands managing the recoil
of machine guns mounted to the chopper they’re
clipped to, because Creedence is playing on max,
Lieutenant Dan taught us to walk again.
Covered by the freedom those died providing
colors fade with the fog of endless war.
Not that anyone notice when times grew slack,
media removed vulnerable to reality’s attack.