One Day in Dallas
November 22, 1963
If it had been raining
that Friday
and a glass bubble
covered the convertible
or if Air Force One was delayed
by threatening weather.
If the school book depository
near Dealey Plaza
had been so tightly secured
no interloper could enter
no stairwell led upstairs
no window could be opened.
But how far back from the grassy knoll
could onlookers hope to see him?
As a young man with Addison’s disease?
When his PT boat was sunk in the Pacific?
If only the motorcade had driven faster
past that sixth floor perch.
Maybe then the roses on her lap
would have been brighter
than the blood staining
her dress.
(first published in Clerk of the Dead by
Main Street Rag Publishing, 2020)
This poem is amazing. Brought back that day.