Grandpa

Grandpa

I pulled down

the planes on strings.

My dad, under his mom's

careful watch, boxed

the miniature war

machines labeled, "Hulan's

Work." One of the hooks

on the ceiling snapped. I

couldn't avoid the B-26 Marauder

plummeting. Grandma shouted

obscenities at her son.

I felt the loss

throbbing red on my

face. My dad, red with shame.