RFK

I was ten years old that June night
In the shadow of a dark April
In the turmoil of 68.
I was a child
Looking, learning,
Reaching and grasping
In the chaotic confusion
Of tumultuous times.
Cronkite every night
In black and white,
Cities burning
Angry streets
And Vietnam violence.
Daily doses
Seeping in
Flooding the safety
Of my living room.

Yet in the midst of uncertainty
I saw the hope in his eyes
Those blue blue eyes
Gleaming brightly
Like a lighthouse
On a dark ocean night.
I was a child
He was my idol,
A suit with unruly hair,
A scrapper, a subtle rebel,
A rich man with the guts
To walk in the ghetto.
A Senator with the strength
To hold hands with migrants,
A brother with the courage
To face the danger
He knew was there.

It was too late for me
To stay up that night
(I was a child),
But the next day as usual
I went to the corner store
To pick up the morning paper
For my grandfather.
I ran and skipped and jumped
With youthful joy
Running to get the news
The magnificent news
Of California, of great victory
And greater to come
Chanting a song for Bobby
I'd heard the day before:
"Nothing can stand in our way
All the way with RFK."

I walked home slowly
Carrying the Boston Globe
A dime's worth of print
Puncturing my soul.
I sat alone on the back doorsteps
Sobbing, clutching for answers
That can never be found.
I prayed with a fever
But in two days he was gone.
The pedestal of idealism
Crashed all around me
Slaughtering the innocence
Of a childhood world
Where righteous heroes rule,
The resurrection of Camelot
Stillborn and swallowed
By the cold reality of a steel bullet.