If I were a flag, I’d be Japan:
the white of surrender
with a red throb in the center.
If I was a fruit, I’d be uneaten.
If I was money, I’d be unearned.
If I were an organization, I’d be the UN. 
If I were a pronoun, I’d be them.
If I were a fluid, I’d be smuggled rum. 
In a missile fight, I bring a gun.
If I was a point, I’d be moot.
If I were a tree part, I’d be the hard root. 
Hard as I watched, hard as I listened. 
Hard as he leaned, hard as she twisted. 
Hard as he roared, hard as she glistened. 
Hard as the price I paid for this wisdom.