The man from Burma killing a beef in Garden City
does he know the star falling on some flag
is the corporate slime he stands in reflected machete a shadow.
The man from Somalia killing a cow in Dodge City
does he see the past across the lot from where he
stands cold all shift in blood and shit.
The man in Topeka praying his way through another cut
into the flag of stars he stands under. Calloused hands
perhaps but not a speck of blood – bright white they be.
And cold as star.
— Jim McCrary