The Orange Room Review

Accessible poetry of substance


Cuban Missile Crisis, October 1962

by Bob Bradshaw


There were odd things, a teacher's
unusual raised voice,
my stoic mother bursting
inexplicably into tears,
 
my father glued to the nightly news...
calling the TV standoff
between America and Russia
a pissing contest.
 
At school they were teaching us
what to do
if a bomb dropped.
Duck under your desk!
 
Dad sulked
in front of the Friday Night Fights,
grumbling how hard it was
to pick a winner
 
while Mom sewed my Halloween costume,
and stroked my hair.
"I can't wait to be a ghost,"
I confessed, Mom's eyes
 
red as rust.



BOB BRADSHAW lives in California, a state drifting towards Asia as Bob drifts towards retirement. It's uncertain who will reach their destination first. Recent and forthcoming poetry of Bob's can be found at Poetry Friends, The Orange Room Review, Hudson View, Slow Trains and Eclectica.