The war ended in 1945’s summer.
We piled into the back of pickup and sped to town.
We banged on garbage can lids.
I felt a sting above my eye.
I looked down and picked a BB off the wooden floor.
I told my parents, uncle and grandmother what happened.
They didn’t believe me, even when I showed them the tiny copper BB.
The war was over, an uncle would come home and more food was on the way.
A nearly lost eye – how important could that be?
Some were marching around, out of the pickup, still banging garbage can lids.
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late September 2013