I was making him a bacon sandwich.
At the ugly plastic cloth table;
It had these stupid balloons on
I've always thought it looked like
A boring birthday party.
My granddad was looking into the past
His cataracts clouding over like two crystal balls
He told the story of the bomb shelter
Beneath the pig sty and running to it
The explosions and metal burning his eyes
Melting his ears and an endless choke
Getting in and feeling the earth rumble
As if at the centre of the world
Coming out hours later shivering cold
Despite the scorched earth and the strange
Smell of bacon in the air
He bit into the sandwich and smiled
As a red blob of ketchup fell
Onto the cracked white plate.
