Trapped

POSTCARD, DETROIT MICHIGAN
Early 1960s

When I was the age of a kindergartner
I stood on my suburban porch
And watched the flames and smoke
Along the horizon
As rioters burned Detroit
But it didn’t reach my world until
We tried to drive to my grandparents’
And the expressway was closed
With little pots that looked like cartoon bombs
Little round black pots with tongues of fire
Across all the expressway ramps
To keep people out I thought
But no my father said
To keep those people in
And then I was scared
For me and the people on the other side
Many years later
I stood in my office tower
And watched the flames and smoke
As the World Trade Center burned
They closed the bridges
And the tunnels to Manhattan
And shut the airports to the nation
And this time
I was the one trapped inside