032522b

Here At Last

I was in a coffee shop in Olathe, Kansas,
When everything changed.
I’d met an old friend and we were talking
About “The Day After” (We had some friends
From KU who’d had small parts in that
Second-rate film of nuclear catastrophe.),
And about how much we regretted
never experiencing even a minor earthquake.
Just then, the cups danced off the
Shelves, smashed on the floor,
The sandwich chef screamed,
Her knife flew into the air,
I ducked.

Irene was staring out the window,
Caught my hand: “Look!”
I turned, expecting a gavotte of cars,
Not the silver saucer massively settling
On an extended-cab Ford,
Like a shift worker onto a couch.

“They’re here,” I whispered,
We stared, people ran,
A siren screamed.
“I know. Out the back way,
“Now!”