Pop-Tarts and Orange Tang

Saturday Poetry Prompt: soothing fires

Photo by Sarah Deal from Pexels

“but we all retreat to those stories and sacrifices”
J.D. Harms, poem Hiding in the Senses: Prose Poem

raised on pop-tarts and orange tang,
I’ve never fought for anything,
Kraft Dinner, fried bologna,
Saturday afternoons — Mr. McCullough and Atlantic Grand Prix Wrestling.

dad smoked 2 packs a day back in those days,
mom mixed rum and cokes,
in the kitchen after work,
news came on at 6.

never once worried about an invasion,
friends, family getting killed,
tanks, bombs, IEDs,
you’re freaking kidding me, right?

grampy was barely 17 when he went overseas,
Christ — he was just a boy,
he never talked much,
about the war.

it has got me thinking,
just because I’ve never fought for anything,
doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,
doesn’t mean I couldn’t.