Snapping

The flag against its pole,

metal on fabric,

the sound sharp enough

to make me turn.

I'd walked past a hundred times

and never heard it.

But today the wind was loud,

and the flag was angry,

snapping like something breaking,

like something insisting

on being noticed.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

I stood there.

People moved around me.

The flag kept talking,

keep demanding that I remember

it was there,

that it was still moving,

still fighting the air,

still making noise.

I couldn't unhear it.

Now every flag I see

is screaming.