Wednesday, October 3, 2012

1962

you run home
from school with your
books under
your arm.
a tin lunch box
with an empty
thermos and
a noisy handful of
cut carrots inside.
the sirens wail
behind you,
screaming madly
from the red speakers
set high upon a pole.
even the pigeons have
scattered from the field.
death and destruction
await, so you run
fast as you were told
calmly by a teacher
in a yellow sweater
with a nervous tic,
you listen with
child's ears,
watching with small
eyes for the inferno
the mushroom,
the blast.  trying to
get home to die
with your family.

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