From the archives — Missile Crisis — Steve Meador

Missile Crisis

It was a three-day party, slash,
end of the world event,
where all the practice at school—
the dropping under the desk
and folding our arms over our heads—
was going to save me from an atomic blast.
Must have been the entire crew
that worked with my father,
still dressed in their green,
grease-globbed Air Force fatigues,
sitting in chairs, on the wood railing
and standing on the porch.
America’s well-trained military
armed with longneck bottles,
anti-Russian talk and cross-eyed vigilance,
periodically rushing onto the grass
and scanning the Savannah sky.
“We see one missile and we’ll sink Cuba into the sea!”
Roaring. Cheers. Cursing Khrushchev and Castro.
Me? I was young, but not a fool standing in the open.
I was hanging close to the kitchen,
where I could duck under the table and cover my head.

by Steve Meador

from Autumn Sky Poetry Number 5, March 2007