MORNING EXTINCTION
In the shuttered darkness
Of a kitchenette
I’m nodding in the morning
And the world resistant to
My leap out the window
Into emptied lake of street
Into welcome menace of mortuary stillness
Adrift and misanthropic
When the blam-blam alarm
And landing splat in a pratfall
Shattering café idleness
Of urban mamas yapping Chihuahuas
And babies with pinched pink faces
Fate of the free world bundled into strollers
Screaming WA-WA! cuddly soldiers-to-be
In training from the potty seat to guzzle the dream
At a ratio of tit versus
Miles per gallon
READ ALL ABOUT IT
Uranium to critical mass
That’s all you need to remember
No doubt about it, the world is nearing its finale
I hear trees whispering about it in foreign languages
Here I sit with dice and cup
I can’t afford insurance.
3 comments:
Thank you for the poems, Mr. Passer! Enjoyable enough to read a few times over. It might be that your neighbourhood houses a pessimistically unintelligible sort of tree - the ones here sigh of secret spirits and poison frogs, of silence covered by sounds of moisture, of poison fogs. They never seem to mention bombs, thank whatever there is to thank.
Ah, when there is no editor; frogs and fogs both, for sure, but in the same sentence? I should given them more living space. Now all the frogs are choking on the fogs, and the jays are laughing.
A good line like "And landing splat in a pratfall" cheers my ears. -- Larry
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