Where was your 1980s room-
Whereupon you would have been vaporised
Or severely burned
Mine was under the stairs
Where Patrick told me to go
In his broadcast
Sinister
And of leaflets
Like mars the bringer of war
Our fallout room
With tin openers and loo rolls
With the odd stuffed toy
And board game broom
To sweep the acrid boredom
Of anticipation
A government commission
In cold war times
I’m not a child anymore
But the memory lingers
The burned image of potential cinders
Smoulders on
Like a viper
Never gone
Never leaving
Poor child grieving
I still have the occasional nightmare
hoping to be friends
With the Russian bear
and
For a world
Without the bomb.