Brief conversations in a known pattern

Three stories fell down over a few heads
nothing too bad, the papers said, quiet the people
from the thoughts in their heads
but I have seen this happen

it is a pattern, I know first the streets
the asphalt, the fire sweeping the grounds
then there are the stories,
then the houses, it is always the same, how chaos builds up

same as when I was twelve
I ask, how are you? All I will get is
your inability to answer my questions with I'm fine-
you are slow, I know it is not my fault

this time, it will be alright, you tell me
we are at war, I say
you want to leave, you say- nothing permanent- just
 for a sunny beach in the middle of a rainy October

change the weather, change this atmosphere
maybe starting fresh will boost up my level
of immunity to the fallen stories
as if it will make you accept what falls from the skies

it won't, I am sure, you answer me- pause:
but I want to take my children to sea
knowing I will have them back with the waves,
with the shells, with the sandcastles-he says to me.