Crash test dummies once employed to gauge
the effects of an atomic blast
sit on a living room sofa
looking like my dead parents;
Dad’s tie askew,
Mom’s pillbox hat about to fly off.
They smile ferociously into the camera.
I can see Dad’s Oldsmobile on the carport,
the doors have blown off.
At noon, in the low desert,
a painted lizard waits,
his body tense,
his head cocked,
a hot wind coming up,
his golden skin rippled in the heat,
watching the curve of an empty road,
as if something’s about to happen,
some consequence,
on the edge of History.
12:04, under a changeless sky,
a hand poised on a button,
waiting
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Comments2
devoid of inhumane Nuclear context
your Poetry, reads transparent
shades-in, those silent worries
where we contemplate, that juxtaposed
In a fate, distinguished by invisible
lines of featherweight chance:
'some consequence,
on the edge of History.
12:04, under a changeless sky,
a hand poised'
(I know little
but even i can recognise you've crafted
a Brilliant poem
Your talent, accentuated
by your succinctly
Sparse, choice wording
and poise, in your poetic
Voice and measured tonality)
thank you!
for choosing to share, dear Poet
Thank you for your kind and generous comment
Tj Struska
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