my grandfather told me about his boat
he might’ve said ship I didn’t really know
He said he ran up to the front as the planes roared in
He might’ve said “back” It was a long time ago
my grandmother told me about running away she might’ve said towards I really don’t know And the planes roared in and the planes roared on
they only dropped paper but she never came home
but who can you blame when the world goes to Hell?
it was nonstop at supper she never shut up
like if she left space she’d remember the town where she grew up too fast and left even faster in the dead of the night never making a sound
lips pressed tight and hands pressed tighter
the thrum of a bomber the buzz of a fighter
stumbling with nothing they carried my uncle and it wasn’t really fair but it sure was something
but who can you blame when the world goes to Hell?
and since I never bent I’ll never bend
Unless I do
and since I never broke I’ll never break
Unless I do
and since I never lied you know I’ll always be true
and I will never die until I do
dinner was tense on the fourth of July
I’ve learned what it means When my dad looks away
and my grandfather flinched in the rockets’ red glare
like there was something in the air I couldn’t smell
We slowly went deaf we slowly went blind
at my grandparents’ house with their overstocked shelves
we tossed out his story we tossed out his crimes
we threw it all out like it didn’t mean something.
But who can you blame when the world goes to Hell?
When you spend your Life running you’ve got only yourself.
© 2020 rob Hinkal