Anthem
       

We sang the same song time and time again.
Everybody sang it, warbling off-key,
without betraying anything was wrong.
The parents sang. The children sang along.
We taught a sort of lyric purity.
We put our own stamp on original sin.

There seemed to be a magic in that song,
the same one we sang time and time again.
We worshipped it as if on bended knee,
although we stood each time we sang it. Free
to put our own stamp on original sin,
we watched others to make sure that they sang

with proper respect, proper dignity,
and no deviation among the throng
that freedom song sung time and time again.
Putting our own stamp on original sin,
we sang facing a banner that was hung
in skies so thick with ash we couldn't see.

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from Southern Indiana Review
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