SHADOW OF THE BOMB

Daddy came home from the world war ~
nation flush with victory.
Nazis and the “Japs” defeated,
But the atom’s been released.

“Starving children in Korea!”, Mom says ~
“Clean your plate without a fuss!”
Joe McCarthy warns of Red Threat ~
Lo’ the enemy is us!

But such things are lost on children
with their simple, naive minds ~
lost in chasing fields of butterflies
and riding on our bikes.

Lost in cowboys, Davey Crockett,
Howdy Doody on the tube.
Family picnics, mom’s fried chicken,
blue-sky Sunday afternoons.

Emerald firefly glow in mason jars,
sweet lost age of innocence.
Replaced by flashes in the desert ~
nuclear spores borne on the winds.

Hide and seek ’neath velvet skies,
where “failsafe” bombers ever cruise.
Sputnik soars ’mongst fields of stars ~
a race we can’t afford to lose!

Tongues of fire lift from the launch pads ~
gone are days that were simplistic.
Cold lights arcing through the zodiac
pave the way for things ballistic.

But life’s hope still springs eternal
in youth’s optimistic view.
First dance, first love, going steady...
Khrushchev vows, “We’ll bury you!”

Spy planes soaring o’er the Kremlin
Gary Powers and U-2.
Nation shocked by the admission ~
“That’s something we would never do!”

Days of Armageddon looming ~
Castro Cuban missile threat.
Naval blockade, world in crisis ~
mankind holds collective breath.

Lead lined rooms built ’neath the earth
in nuclear escalating race.
Air raid sirens, “Duck and cover!” ~
interrupted classroom days.

In sun drenched fields of prairie grass,
the brooding missile silos bloom.
Looking forward to life’s promise,
grim reminders of our doom.

And again, a growing menace
sends young men to fight and die,
that their children might know sunshine
and chase fields of butterflies.

For life’s wheel has turned full circle,
and we’re called to distant shores,
where we’ll take a stand for freedom,
just as those who’ve gone before.

As our fathers’ blood once stained the sands
of Normandy and Guam,
so the time has come for us to spill
our blood in Viet Nam.

But this poem is not to second guess,
nor say what’s right or wrong.
Just remembering a childhood
’neath the shadow of “The Bomb”.

© Robert E. Wheatley
May, 2001