White snowflakes fall.
Brown boots break the ground.
Porcelain perceptions
are lost and now
crimson puddles
seed the grounds.

This is what is found
when nationalistic
rhetoric
slowly crosses
from let’s make
this country great
to this is who
is to blame
and who to hate.

Till, that ill suited
nuclear rage
resets the atomic age
and glass jars
of peach preserves,
rhubarb,
and non-perishables
in dusty cellars
are the only things
left of us human beings.