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Bombed Out
London was still full of
fire-bombed vacant lots.
Ruins and rubble
were a kids natural playground,
the deeper the devastation
the better our play.
There was always a chance
to find a broken toy
to abuse.
Back at home,
not once did we consider
what that unidentifiable
gray soot-like substance
on our clothes contained,
but at night
our dreams were troubled
by the eerie whistling
of long dead postmen.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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