An Armageddon Visit

Sunrise

Many a denier left no trace

Of ever having visited

Or lived here

Through his shattered window…

He gazes at the punch bowl

Its crystal and silver catching the dawn

Reminding him it once belonged to the penthouse

High up

Now very low down

Plummeting roof garden somehow made it

Although the birch trees and rose garden

Void of their essence

Find meager survival only among the weeds

Central Park’s stone bridges

Metal benches

Rocks for sun worshipers

The good life in delusions of the future

Remain inanimate

Yet…

Across the way

The occasional life spared

Most often can be found

Hovering beneath sheets of meager safety

Never opening closed curtains

Never daring to accept

While wearing out their rosary

Or beads of any faith

On the dust and ash filled streets

Orphan girls stand transfixed

Gazing at watch faces

Their hands of time frozen

Dare not move

Shortwave crackles with news of

The cloud that is still moving

More often now

Several times a day

Still finding the living

Mystified

Answers seem superfluous

To a species that imploded

By their chosen fate’s inevitability