6/6/68

The image is indelibly Engraved in my mind’s eye- Like the black and white photography of the night that Bobby died. Bobby, lifeless, bleeding out upon the kitchen floor. Is there a doctor in the house? Where is the rule of law? There were then two Americas They too were black and white. Evil times bred evil men. Do you recall the night? That summer there was rioting And violence roiled the land. It might have been much different with a Kennedy in command. The saddest words a poet writes And lets escape his pen Is that sad speculation That asks what might have been.

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Written by

john-f-mccullagh

63 / M / American

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