Remnants

When the historical becomes hysterical

And the sand on the beach replaced

By remnants of a nearby town,

Still smoking from its arrival last week,

Then it’s fair to ask what the hell is going on?

A Bell helicopter overhead drowns out the surf

Lapping at the rubble of storefronts and cottages.

It was the mother of all explosions says my friend,

But Hiroshima comes to mind along with

Other forgotten man-made mushroom clouds.

He stares at me, bewildered by my recounting of destruction

As if it were only known to me, the keeper of horrors.

”It’s just a town”, he offers with sad eyes.

Suddenly the chopper drops down close to the ocean

As it heads for us.