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On Rockets

On Rockets

When I was a child
my father used to take me
to a field by our house to launch
model rockets into the air. My sleep,
then, was haunted by fallout car-bombs monsters.

We’d watch the grey streamers streak their way toward
what, he assured me, was not heaven.

Driving to some nowhere field (too fast too late)
and blue-light, flashing, a moment and then

tasting the hood of my car while the band-radio
mutterers explosive.