Under the Stairs

Under the Stairs

Cold is the night when the warning sounds

That dreaded wail which rouses us from sleep.

We grab warm blankets, a good book perhaps

And a flask - no time for anything else.

Tonight Grandma refuses to get up.

'I'll die in the comfort of my own bed'

She growls, as the Heinkels fly high above,

Homing in on our city by the sea.

We hesitate, too late now to reach the shelter.

Huddling under the stairs we begin to pray

To God or any deity who cares to listen.

The drone of the bombers grows nearer,

A hideous cacophony echoing overhead.

As these cruel machines of war invade our shore

We wait patiently for the all clear.

Shrugging our shoulders and shaking our heads

We wonder what horrors will assault us

As dawn breaks over our fair city.

Dad pushes the stair cupboard outwards

And everything in the house looks normal

A friend bangs abruptly on the front door.

'Thank god you were under the stairs she cries,

Hugging me closely.'The shelter was hit...

Eleven people in the street are dead.'

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