A letter to Arlington, on the occasion of an approaching rendezvous.

Excuse me, but
I think you have something,
Some things of mine that
I'd like to have returned,
Please.

And yes, I know
How unreasonable,
Unthinkable,
Inconceivable the task might seem
to you,
to many.

I guess it's that I'd like it,
Them, returned in their original state,
The way they were before
You knew them, before
You received them,
So benevolently,
So gently,
So quietly.

I realize that it's not your fault,
That occasion of welcoming
Your guests to rest by your grassy knolls,
Your well-cultivated bed of stones.

I know you didn't force them to arrive,
To stay,
Ensconced by your fertile earth.
But I mistrust you nonetheless,
For having issued
That open-ended invitation,
Just by being.

But you're not malicious, no,
You patiently wait to receive them all,
And welcome them with open--
Grave, breathing visitors
Stand and applaud your ceremonial entertainment.

I wish your guests
Could appreciate that pomp and circumstance, but
I alone hear the bugle
That they will never,
Anymore.

Think it over,
Please.
I know your volition is not your own.
But I'll see you soon,
Since it remains my pleasure,
My duty,
To beautify,
To violate your pristine grounds
With pre-approved tokens of my undying devotion.

I won't be bringing any flags.