Nights were drawing in and the bonfire had burned down.
We were counting down the days left till Christmas.
When the news came through it was late afternoon -
we were toying with our homework before tea.
After Mum talked to Dot over our backyard fence
she came in and switched on the telly.
While we gathered in the warm round our black and white TV
our sausages and mash went uncooked.
Our world dimmed that night like before the power went.
Dad laid aside his evening paper.
On the BBC News a man dressed in black
spoke words that seemed to rumble like stones.
Mum dabbed her eyes and said he died too young
but we thought he looked older than our father.
The motorcade was travelling quite slowly they said.
Mrs Kennedy was heard to cry, ‘Oh, no!'
© Abigail Elizabeth Ottley
Abigail Elizabeth Ottley writes poetry and short fiction from her home in Penzance where the sea air and beautiful scenery keep her mostly on the right side of sanity.