
The 1953 Worcester Tornado
We were camped in a forest round Petersham.
Tuesday, June the ninth in nineteen fifty three
Afternoon around five, a fire lit to brew coffee
While Bill sliced his mother’s black-baked ham,
At peace in the backwoods, then struck by a force like a tram
a banshee shrieking twister rolled us all pastry flat
men and beasts snared in the giant cage of a fallen tree
It travelled forty eight miles through Massachusetts,
Me and Bill lay scared under that Worcester tornado,
Blinking ninety four lives, into shapeless sourdough
The storm clung as a limpet, killed in ninety minutes
Thousand injured, houses splintered destruction without limit,
Assumption College in rubble, ten thousand homeless,
throughout Shrewsbury, Southborough and Westborough
He still had that damned ham, truth it kept us both alive
Then after two days they came, sawed me and Bill free
But nothing stood in Worcester that he and I could see,
Streets of houses wiped away no memorabilia did survive
The awful twisting force of nature, can humans so easily deprive
All gone in a howling column of traceless tortured souls
That was June the ninth’s tornado, in nineteen fifty three.
A.McTiernan

