Memorial Day Weekend

I was tasked with the honer to dispose of my nation's banners in the proscribed method. I dug a shallow grave and attempted immolation But the fabric was not cotton, nor linen or hemp; Some artificial fabric made of plasticine fibers, They smoldered like Gary, Indiana, and melted like American cheese, Ronnie Wax, it was called in the 1980's. But a government job was a boon for us now, in the 90's, If only seasonal. Hoarse mewling caught my attention, and I tracked the source next door, to Vector Control. The deformed creature, was barely a mouse, What should have been kitten, Perversely wounded with opaque, matter framed eyes. It squawked between the most hollow and hopeless Drone of the summer. Chain crusted with precious, unfortunate detritus Was wrapped round it's neck and bolted to the dog house Outside of that Dachau for meaty cast-offs. The guards had gone home for long Independence weekend, And I, on the night shift, was alone with my duty. I closed off the part that nurtures the sick, and switched to the role: The firing squad loner, the hooded axe-wielder, My shovel, a stand-in for swift tang and chop; The hopeless little wretch was buried with honers befitting a hero.