The tense days of the Cuban Missle crisis
Brought us grade school "duck and cover" lessons.
Intimidating sessions; a shrieking alarm,
Bewilderment, panic, then stern orders
From a teacher whose fearful skyward gaze
Frightened us more than the air raid siren,
To "huddle under your desks."
On the floor, heads bowed, arms around our faces,
We became fetuses again, cowering
Beneath the work benches of our instruction
That we hoped would become our means of salvation
If missles sowed terror, mushroom clouds bloomed,
Then spread their lethal pollen across the land.
The same questionable lessons of survival
Led to Civil Defense Directors; neighbors
With political clout suddenly given a hard hat
With a triangle decal on it, and some semblance
Of authority in a crisis should one ever arise.
They'd be goose-stepping through the aftermath
Of apocalypse to assure us that "everything's fine,"
And that the flag of the "home of the brave" would still
Proudly wave over the smoldering devastation.
Bomb shelters suddenly became the rage.
You owed it to your loved ones to construct one.
A windowless concrete cubicle soon squatted
In your basement. "Duck and Cover" family style.
There'd be a string attached to one electric bulb,
A few jugs of water, some packages of K-rations,
Expired Army surplus from Korea, or maybe
V-J day, the war that we won. There'd be a Bible,
Some paperbacks, a medicine kit, a Swiss army knife,
A box of rags, old coats, some sleeping bags
And a rifle and some ammo in a locked box.
"It's nice to know it's there," my neighbor would say.
Eventually it wasn't. Eventullly it became a blemish,
An embarrassment, prompting feelings and fears
Better left suppressed. Soon relegated
To gathering cobwebs and the detirius of families.
The shelters I know of now serve as root cellars.
Jars of canned raspberrys, peaches, pickles
And homemade salsa jostle for room upon shelves
With Christmas, Halloween and Easter decorations,
Mankind's capacity for destruction has progressed
To where 'duck and cover" won't protect us anymore.
Now we just pray that the unthinkable won't happen.
We've painted over the conctrete bricks of our shelters,
Found other uses for them and moved on with our lives.
