I've lived a long time with a lot of different people and these here kids are crazy. They stuck me in here, they did. They stuck me in here with the crazies. It's ah-cause of my involvement in the war, but I can't tell nobody that. Then they'd kill me for sure. I hold it all in all the time. The way things are. Nobody else sees it. But I do. I go along with their routine, with that big ugly lady's routine. She'd a been killed in the army. Nobody'd of stood for it. I'm always trying to keep all my information in. I'm the only one who knows the truth. But sometimes it just slips out even when I don't mean it to. Good thing it don't make no sense. To them anyway. The little government. That's what I like to call the nurses and the doctors and that damn public relation. Them's the kind of people we used to git rid of. I wish somebody'd understand…

I try to tell 'em one day. I try to slowly clue them in, bit by bit.

"No… The flag is… America. America is… the plum. The peach. The watermelon. America is the gumdrop. The pumpken seed. America is the Tellyvision."

It's all true America is squishy and sweet. Sometimes it tastes like water, but its got a real variety to it, too. It can be sour, but it ain't never salty an' never spicy. Americans don't like salt and spice. And people here know more quicker an' faster that near anybody else because of the blessed Tellyvision.

"Now… The cross is Mexico." I've always liked the Chief. Them chiefs always understand. "Mexico is… the walnut. The hazelnut. The aycorn. Mexico is… the rainbow. The rainbow is… wooden. Mexico is… wooden."

I been a lot of places. I been to Mexico. They even got a cross in their name. A little x marking their little cross. There's crosses everywhere in Mexico. It's cause of their stiff and solid religion. Their religion is as hard as their crosses. Mexicans are hard and strong and brown, too. My grandma was a Mexican. Her name was Hazel. They've got so many colors down there. The sky is one big tsunami of color and the people think grey is a sin.

"Now… The green sheep is Canada. Canada is… the fir tree. The wheat field. The calendar…"

I went to Canada too. Everything is clearer there. The water, the sky, the snow, the people. They aren't what the world would call strong, but there ain't nobody bothered by them. Ain't nobody wants to mess with them, just to see how they tick. All the trees are what make it clear. Green is such a clear color. That an' blue. You could see right into them and past them for a thousand miles… Canada has one season there all the time. The calendar never has to change. March could march right on through June to November. Canada's just funny that way.

I aught to know these things, I just wish them crazies would know what I was getting at. Sometimes I think they do, but they just don't wanna admit it. Nobody wants to understand a crazy person, not even the crazies themselves.

In the army when I was Colonel, they always used to get my metaphors. Always. I'd tell 'em to hunt 'em down like iguanas and they'd know exactly what I meant. If I still had my rank, the crazies and I could get rid of this government real fast. Wouldn't take no time at all to get out of here and escape to Mexico or Canada or some place where we'd finally be free…

A/N: Don't use this in class if you have Ms. Goodman. I already did. Cause I wrote it. She'll know. :)