I grew up in the Viet Nam era,
the Cold War hovering over my shoulders…
fears and innuendo; living on the edge.
At work would sometimes wonder
Could I get home? Would there be time?
At least be with the ones I love
should “The Bomb” be launched?
…then I’d chastise myself for thinking a fool’s thoughts.
It’s a bad habit I have, pondering worse case scenarios —
those particular fears had all but disappeared;
turning into background noise over the years.
It’s funny how things creep back from the past…
with nothing good in the news these days,
and world leaders upping the ante on crazy...
is it any wonder that the ghosts of fears long gone
are coming ‘round to haunt again?
© Ginny Brannan 2017
In ’62 I was in second grade in small town VT. I do not remember ever crawling under my desk for bomb drills, but my husband, who lived on Long Island, does. I do remember the Cold War though, the ever-present shadow of communism throughout my youth and teens, and into adulthood.