The factory blew today —
a headline explosion — and I remember
the day you blew; ashes scattered
in foreign disarray

We never really knew what happened;
secrets were for hoarding, and we
watched as the masters showed us
how it was done

Today couldn't get to the proper
media outlets fast enough — this world
loves a good tragedy, or at least
a minor sob story

But in your time, it took effort
before sorrow reached beyond
a select few, and when it did, we
hid like we were taught; good soldiers
in proper positions

I'm not sure about that day even now —
some stories inflate as the calendar rolls;
others disappear into themselves.
The mothers and fathers, sons and
daughters — who makes it home tonight —
who disappears into themselves
before they finally blow?