A Morning in Concepcion

The Colonel's on his terrace
With a cafe blanco in his hand.
The air is warm this morning,
And he gazes at the tranquil
Sea. His two grandchildren
Dash about. They can't sit
Still, but that's okay. One spies
An insect on a flower, cries out,
“Wasp! Oh, Grandpa, kill it.”
In response, the other smiles,
“Grandpa couldn't kill a thing.”
A seagull screams. A vision
Comes: his rifle swings and
Bullets from it cut down men
Who also scream. The Colonel,
Shaken, feels a chill. He doesn't
Speak, but tells himself he knows
That Grandpa could.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 57 times
Written on 2016-12-28 at 18:28

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