Serena Malcolm

My neighbour hung a St. George’s flag and asked me what I thought,
Now I’ve been known for my quick wit, but my brain – licked by the grotesqueness of it – could form no such retort,
I had no words,
No words would come,
Struck dumb and dumbfounded that he would ask me something so inherently… dumb,
With zero irony, not a drop, not a single one,
He was proud; stood tall and feeling unapologetically patriotic,
As I stood there with my brown skin and silk bonnet, smelling like cocoa butter and hair oil, and looking helplessly exotic,
What DO I think?
I think he thinks it’s harmless, just nationalistically symbolic,
I think him asking my opinion is either tone deaf or vitriolic,
And it bugs me that I truly can’t tell which,
My neighbour who always waves at me when he’s putting out the bin,
Who takes my parcels for me whenever I’m not in,
I just can’t reconcile him with this banner made of white sheet, complete with burning red cross,
That is so loaded with layered meaning
That it can never just be thus,
I’m at a loss,
But I’ve been raised in a way that says that sometimes safety is in silence,
That when the wolf is at your door
wearing sheepskin it is not the time for violence,
So I eat my thoughts, retreat inside, close the door and bolt it tight,
And make a mental note to change my ‘safe place’ on every damned courier’s website.