In Medias Res

On Main one night when they sounded the chimes
my father was ahead in shadows, my son
behind coming into the streetlight, on each side
a brother and a sister; and overhead
the chimes went arching for the perfect sound.
There was a one-stride god on Main that night,
all walkers in a cloud.

I saw pictures, windows taking shoppers
where the city went, a great shield hammering out,
my wife loving the stations on that shield
and following into the shades calling back.
I had not thought to know the hero quite so well.
“Aeneas!” I cried, “just man, defender!”
And our town burned and burned.