Cracker Jack Prize
Sometimes I drink too much to feel…nothing in
place of the something that I can’t put my finger on,
but nonetheless lingers everywhere around me.
There are no heroes here…just survivors, but
then, what would you call someone that wakes
up every day and does whatever they have to do
in order to ensure food is on the table and their
widow doesn’t have to sell herself for bread.
I can see the clump of hair on the floor, partially
obscured by the dust and debris, but when it is
gently grasped to be placed in a bag it is clear
the light has played a grisly trick on everyone.
Only a woman in her kitchen when the Talibs
decided to let loose on this dangerous residence…
just hope against hope she wasn’t a mother –
nobody can take any more surprises today.
-- by Steve McKennon – 11/19/02