Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Dallas, a poem


I don’t remember what class
it was, only that it was
mid-afternoon at Saint Catherine’s
and a nun came into our eighth-grade
classroom and whispered to our nun
and the world was changed.

And the world went on,
too, and we lived to see
the Beatles on Ed Sullivan
and the war in Vietnam
and every war since, and some
went away and they also died.

If things were different
it was because things are always
different. We changed them
and they changed us and we
marched or married, got
religion or became hippies.

Dallas cast its shadow
but like all shadows it fades
with distance. We can barely
see it from here and soon
it will disappear
into books and blurry videos.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

not quite my normal thing but what the heck

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