SUNRISE IN THE EVENING

The sky had turned a dismal gray
Which foretold that kind of day,
The kind that downed one’s attitude,
Into a somber, numbing mood.

One might sit next to the window
And watch gleaming ice crystals blow
Past the dingy window pane
Or without comment, view the stain

That had for years past, leaked through
From the chimney’s faulty flu
He thought someday should be repaired
Then mildly noted, no one cared.

And so it was the bearded man
With ruddy skin so harsh and tan
Sipped his wine next to the stove
And viewed his pasture’s little grove.

The trees were bare of leaves and care,
Just stoic witnesses out there,
That winter was still in full force
And as of yet showed no remorse.

The man in rustic country garb
Played a solitary card
On the table where he sat
And sometimes moved his tattered hat

His radio played soft and low,
Some kind or other music show.
Sometimes he whistled to the song
But never lasted very long.

Tense static on his radio
Broke off that country music show
And caused the dog’s ears to twitch
And roused the man to scratch an itch.

Then broke in with a harsh retort
A news program, special report.

“This is your first news radio network.
Please stay tuned for a special report.”

Again short static blurred,
Again the dog barely stirred

“Unconfirmed reports from reliable sources at the pentagon report that as of 1:00 PM, eastern standard time, large numbers of radar contacts have been confirmed as emitting from the far side of the northern polar region. General Colan Daily, USAF Retired, Our technical advisor, concludes that if a first strike from the Soviet Union were launched, it would appear in just such a pattern and from just such a direction.

We return you to your local station.”

The man rolled another cigarette
From the Bull Durham pack he set
Back next to the radio
Which went on with his country show.

He stroked his warn beard a bit
And reminisced the sum of it
But dismissed the possibility
That such a thing could these days be.

After all, the cold war is done,
After all, It’s we who’ve won,
After all, even Commies
Would not destroy their kids and mommies.

The singers on the radio
Continued with their local show
While he thought with mild attention
What might other stations mention?

As the fire died down the man rose
And the few cured logs that he chose,
He added to the stove’s fire box
On which he turned a couple rocks

Which later on, he would use,
To warm his feet when he might choose,
To retire to his ancient bed
And relax himself there instead.

The dog rose up his noble head,
It’s stomach urged he should be fed.
He glanced at the man with question,
Where was his normal evening ration?

True to his customary way,
The man, at supper time would say,
“Here’s your food old Patchie boy.”
The dog would woff in subdued joy.

The man opened a can of stew
Then added some old chili to
The pan that rested on the stove
And stared again out at the grove.

The radio broke through his thought
With the static that it wrought..,
He fumbled with the tiny knobs
And there, another station Throbbed.

“News sources from Nevada, New Mexico, Wyoming and North Dakota all report seeing many launches from underground Silo’s in those states. We still have no word as to the authentication of the earlier report of ICBM type radar sightings in the vicinity of the north pole. This reporter has to wonder if authentication is any longer necessary as we have obviously launched, at least a piece meal, retaliatory attack. We shall break away from our regular programming for further breaking news as we receive it. Now back to your regular station.”

The music again played away
As evening crept away from day.
The man stirred his chili and stew
Then changed the station to something new.

“Almighty God, we pray our brothers and sisters will repent forthwith and join us in this, our hour of judgment. Now, sing with me brothers and sisters, dd Rock of ages cleft to me.

The man changed stations once again.

“This second wave of incoming ICBM’s apparently will be larger then the first. Our advisor, General Daily, theorizes that the second wave of ICBM’s is in response to our earlier retaliatory launching this afternoon. General Daily, what next? I anticipate that we will launch another wave of missiles in response to their second wave launching,”

General Daily, since neither their or our missiles have , as yet, reached their targets, is their any chance that this catastrophe may yet be somehow aborted? Ah, I find it highly improbable, ah, I have to leave now       

Low static followed the broadcast
And then the bearded man, at last
Removed his dinner from the heat
And drew his old chair up to eat.

The dog looked on with mild attention
As the man with warm affection
Sat his dinner plate on the floor
So the dog could have some more.

“Well old boy, here we both are,
I guess we’ll be another star,
I guess there's no sense left in grieving,
It’s something different we’ll be seeing,
Like a sunrise in the evening.”

  ~Robert E. Browne~