I apologize but at this time of year the Cuban missile crisis is often on my mind.
Poem, 12-20-2010
A sad and strange dream
Of the ’62 missile crisis
And high school football,
At first light evanescing.
Alas the purple uniforms,
Mud, tape, wet grass, and
Along the sidelines the girls
Of the pre-Beatles era.
Barbara Sandy Susan
Michelle oblivious of
The missile crisis flaming
On radios and televisions.
‘As a generation of leaves
‘So is that of men’ (Iliad, vi)
But Sandy was no warrior,
Blonde girl of Winnetka
She spoke to my dream self:
‘The crisis ended Mitch but
‘I’m still dead.’ Then from
A black and white Zenith
The voice of JFK: ‘The price
‘Of freedom is always high
‘And Americans always
‘Will pay it. Goodnight.'
