Days of 1998

Days of 1998

Seeing the wet money on fire in chemistry
became the people in the streets.
All the other happy seventh graders walking by
were people weeping in the streets.

The smell of the cycled air
Turned into the smell of burning hair.
My steak sandwich with ketchup
tasted of charcoal, ash, and dust.

Playing soccer surrounded by Victorian houses,
were suddenly just piles of brick and stone
The shouts and jeers of the competition
turned to screams and cries of horror.

The books I carried seemed weightless
compared to the fate of the future.
The numbers and the equations on the board
turned into the numbers of casualties
and those with radiation sickness.

Sitting in history class learning about the battle of Gettysburg
became the battle to survive in the ruins.
The feeling of the smooth walls and the ads on the bulletin boards
became the rough, bone cutting edges of rebar and steel.

All that year, spent doing the problems assigned,
avoiding classmates, and staying alone,
trying to minimize contact.
All that ran through my head: why, why, why