Willows

I like them when they fall down
like weeping willows
They’re crisp and together at the same time
as being
wispy, faint, there and then gone

Crackle down the barrel
of a gun
But not a gun gun.
A finger lost
A holiday to remember

I like them when they fall down
like bodies
like Tina Turner’s 80s hair
like everything and then nothing.

Happy Birthday America
You did it.