Blackout Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

In January 1942 I was five
on a farm
outside Los Angeles.
At night,
it had to be pitch dark
- like in a closet-
so Jap airplanes couldn't find
and bomb us.

I didn't know what a "Jap" was
until one day
soldiers with rifles
in a big truck came
and took away our neighbors-
and sobbing kids.

Where did they keep their planes?
I wondered.
A tractor and plow in the
dark field rust'd,and
all their celery and onions died.