F. WILLIAM BROOME
FOR DAD'S LUNCH
I told my Dad it was for his lunch,
handing him a big red apple.
Putting it in his briefcase
he said that it spoke for him,
for I was the apple of his eye.
He leaned to kiss my forehead
and I hugged him real tight-like.
He reminded me it was Tuesday,
he would be late after his meeting.
It was 7:40, and I hustled to get
to my school classes starting at 8:05.
The first hour passes swiftly, but
a few minutes into the next hour,
my world blew away in a storm
of dust-filled death and destruction
never known in an American city
before today's horrible tragedy.
My stomach knots as I begin to retch,
realizing, as the two towers fall,
that my gift apple
would never be a part
of the lunch wished for my Dad.