(May 10 is the anniversary of the death of Confederate army general ‘Stonewall’ Jackson (1863) and the capture of Jefferson Davis (1865). It is no longer a state holiday in my state, but there are still some local observances of “Confederate Memorial Day” on this date.)
CONFEDERACY
Saw a confederate flag
on display today
hanging on someone’s porch banister—
sinister.
That’s how they always seem to me:
menacing, taunting, ominous;
synonymous
with hate and fear,
jeering at me.
Obtrusive, abusive.
But something was different here—
torn, worn, shredded, frayed.
A charade, I thought.
A symbol perhaps unintended,
decreeing in its degenerate state
that it’s time to stop.
Swap your misplaced anger.
Anchor your feelings in love instead.
Spread the word: its time is over.
Done.
Living on the Diagonal 
I passed a man in Walmart a few days ago who was wearing a Confederate flag shirt. I think he was expecting responses from folks who saw it (presumably responses ranging from a look of scorn to a thumbs-up sign). I didn’t act like I noticed the shirt.
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Ugh!
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Your poem is brilliant, Carole!
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Thank you. That means a lot.
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Thank you, Sylvia. Yes, the logic (if that’s what you can call it) is baffling. And what in the world could be their connection with that symbol in the first place, I wonder.
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What a fine use of words, Carole. In northwest Montana where our son and his family live, our granddaughter reported that a small group of high school students with Confederate flags (must I continue to capitalize that word?) on their shirts held a protest on behalf of gun rights at the same time as other students walked out in support of the students killed in the Parkland school shooting. The use of that rebellious symbol still seems to appeal to alienated people. I wonder if those angry students could explain what that flag originally represented.
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