flags

Flags.

The money tree, at the bottom of the municipal park,
the one my father showed me that dripped coins, is
inside a bank cathedral now, the park too has been
privatized the corporation’s flag snaps, with clout in
the wind, people working there wear nametags and
are proud to belong to such a splendid organization,
that can tell small states how to run their affairs.

Flags are vital everyone must march under one, even
if it’s a rowing clubs banner; without one you’re alone.
Take the woman, who was married to a famous man,
he had left her for a younger one, she didn’t sink into
oblivion, but hoisted her own colors, told the world he
had a small dick and a piscine air hung about him; her
banner is green, for fury, and has a £ sign printed on.