When I think
of the American Flag, today
it has changed to black,
white and gray
and it is flying upside down

In my dream, tonight
when the president's
motorcade passes
the crowd doesn't wave,
or cheer, or even watch.

Tomorrow, I write my
imaginary poem
in French,
in shame for
what's happening
in English,
and in honor of
what's been said
in France

Right now, sitting alone,
just one American,
with no public
no voice, and
no microphone
I turn my back
on Washington
and look away