A Baby in the Old Cold War
I was a baby in the old cold war
When my father died.
While his ghost draped over her
My mother cried.
I tried to run from this haunted house
and live in the park.
Pick up games in the afternoon,
and come back after dark.
Trying to fix this hole that's holding me down.
Later I felt like a grown-up child
Selfish and mild.
Wished I had fought for the noble cause
Or the maiden defiled.
Instead, I did trundle the steadfast road
Dodging the fray.
With a suitcase full of platitudes
and nothing to say.
Trying to fix this hole that's holding me down.
What do we learn before we can speak?
When there's tears all around?
Was this the bearing of the meek?
or an excuse that I found?
Trying to fix this hole that's holding me down.