Dave says the Civil War was fought over states’ rights.
I say, yes, a state’s right to uphold slavery.
Bullshit, he’s yelling now, because
(and he doesn’t actually voice this) I’m a Midwesterner
and he’s a son of the South and how can I possibly understand.
              Our spouses say,
                                              stop it you two!
But Dave and I are eyeing each other like bull and matador.
I’m pretty sure I am waving the red cape.

MaryJane tugs him out the door.  My husband says you know
you aren’t going to win this agument.  And I say,
Dave’s splitting hairs with a sword.

That night I dream I am running with the bulls.

deafening drumroll of hooves
wild flamenco of snorts and shouts and mangy sweat
an undercurrent of danger surging us forward

Up ahead, in the plaza, I see hundreds of confederate flags waving
in a windstorm of defiance.  The glint of gunmetal jolts me awake just
as the ghost of Jefferson Davis slips me a sign
that reads:

Historical truth is a banner flapping in the breeze of opinion.