October, 1962 by Loyal F Ramsey
We
Can let air
Into the basement from the closed up house
My Father said,
Seated on the old floral couch
In the living room of the darkened farmhouse
During the fall of my twelth year.
I think that the radioactive dust
Will settle out
As the air filters in through the cracks
In the window sills,
He continued.
My science fiction addled mind,
Full of Gregory Peck, mutants, and the Blessed St Lebowitz
Screamed NO! NO!
While my voice remained
Respectfully quiet,
Seemingly aware much more than he
Of the danger presented
By this odd intersection
Of Kennedy, Cuba, and Khrushchev
With our quiet
Lives.
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