Flour Bomb

dadairforceMy father has a soft spot for deep fried foods.

He can’t refuse zucchini in oil or gizzards in flour.

He is my spectacular John Wayne king of all guys–

But instead of smoking non-filtered cigarettes

and striking the matches off the bottom of cowboy boots,

He spent my youth making French fries and donuts holes.

 

He tells me,

Korea was a bomb. Namely, Korea was a flour bomb.

Racks and racks of test flour bomb runs to practice maneuvers

to make sure that the enemies were demolished.

But somehow my father became their practice enemy.

So my father has a sore and a soft spot for flour.

 

He tells me,

He sat on high in a radio hub trailer

That was coated with flour

As his friends laughed and cooed

As his friends found out that he made a good kill target

For their flour bombs,

Their racks and racks of pin the tail on my father.

His head bowing each and every time

He told them to fire and they did

And they killed the enemy

Of the United States

As he sat and heard the popping

Of his death on the radio hub ceiling

Again and again and again.

 

He tells me,

He knows it was only flour.

He is thankful it was only flour.

He was a perfect kill target

Up high in his hub trailer.

He heard his death so many times

That if only one had been real

He would not have gone to the dances in the evening,

And drink the stout stout beer

With the pilots who killed him.

 

My father has a soft spot for deep fried foods.

He can’t refuse anything coated with flour

And cooked in oil

Even if it kills him.

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