I sit and watch; day after day
but still the telegrams say -
THERE IS NO CROP
STAY INSIDE STOP
I watch as the gardener comes;
the lonely girl in the gas mask, who hums
the sad tune of the seed
doomed as a ****
I wonder, how she survives without shoes
for the ground, it may ooze
poison from the air
in the ground, seeps in your hair
She's just another lonely soul
with an empty petunia bowl
and one of those masks
as she goes out to fulfill impossible tasks
I sit night by night, with nothing to do
and by every noon she's come through,
watering the toxic soil,
a source of such turmoil
How can it grow;
among poison, she must know
planting out spores
in the aftermath - of wars
The air is a haze
and I feel left in a daze
when at last one dead morn',
the apocalypse flower is born