the last time

Sometimes I wonder if this will be the last time. The last time you leave. The last time I see you, hear you, tell you goodbye. I fear the day the call comes. The text that says you won’t be coming home. Your bones flown home in a bag with a flag over top. The flag represents the ignorant people in our country who think their needs are more important. That putting a knee on the ground instead of a hand on their heart is standing up for their rights. Their rights that they claim aren’t equal. Their rights that are only their rights because you died for them.