Small grenade scooting
down the side of the shed
down the drainpipe
bouncing
innocent as rain
into the coolness
cellar stairs
seeking the shelter
clattering
how come that wasn't it
how come there was more
changing everything
Probably dropped by some young guy
now rocking in his chair
on a porch
remembering the beauty
of Southern Germany
all those small villages
and bigger clusters
On a hill perhaps
across from a church
those were greenhouses
Not a munitions factory--
oh so long ago
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