LITTLE THINGS

LITTLE THINGS

The day the nuclear cloud passed over:
My voice went out on radio waves,
Fire burned in the mountains,
Pollution hung brown above the laguna.

I have dreams of atomic skies;
A red mist covering barren soil.
I wash out the sleeping bag
And hang deer leaping on red flannel
Over the clothesline
Open.

The washing machine reads
COOL DOWN Care.
Radio waves come my way
Reporting the cloud lost.

Real images centered by
Disjointed emotions
In disarray.
Little things are something like a dream.

Zara Altair