Glimpses of JFK

 First time I saw him, candidate Kennedy, in front of the Alamo on a sunny hot day, urgency and challenge in his voice. The same accent as one of the nuns at my heels, the sound could snap you alert with it's lyrical shrill.
 Three years later, now as a veteran of the nuclear war bullfight, an admirer of wit and women, Pablo Casals on cello, the potential moon hero, again in Alamo city, his last full day on the planet. 
 I saw him in the morning around 11am, as he rode by in the top down, I said to myself,"his face is so red" and that was the last glimpse of him, from my viewpoint. 
 Then came the next day, standing in ROTC formation as an 8th grader, seeing the coach, with a transistor radio to his ear, walking quickly to the field where we manuvered the Friday flourish. 
 Said I to my eyes, "President Kennedy is dead". 
 Swashbuckle blown from the blasted into greener pastures, bouncing off the west coast of Ireland into eternity. 
 Then the coach announced the news to the 'troops" and we dispersed to the chapel and then to the TV. The sounds of "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine" and the sobs of tears mixed with the broadcast sounds, it felt like spiritual anarchy.
 Words are still transmitted with urgency, challenging us to see, with reckless lucidity, our precarious position as the fodder of nuclear weapons. Transmitted with pictures altered by a ten year old in the Alamo crowd. Prouder of him as he speaks. 

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