A tyrant in Libya.
they continue to plan
a royal wedding.
Plutonium in the soil and
they go about their lives,
about fancy boots and Charlie Sheen.
Even though it is half a world away,
I expect something more of these humans.
Perhaps a pause? Perhaps something
other than the same, ordinary, self assured
blathering. Just a little recognition
of what their fellow human condition
is enduring somewhere they are not.
When the tsunami comes here,
and the bombs drop on Time Square—
I’m going to look down and laugh.
Here is the end, rushing toward us–
like coming attractions;
A preview approved for all audiences.
And miles inland, on dry land,
before the fallout—
the most average of the average
will proclaim, “BEST FAIL EVER!”
And others will be too busy with that
to heed the warning of what is coming.
The human race, this poem, or just a video
of a young boy falling on his face—
after attempting a stunt
he’d seen most others blunder.
In the end, we’re all the same.
For many, death will come
while in line at the concessions.
So, be careful how long you stand,
pumping the artificial butter.