by Kim Doyle
He threw himself on top of her,
the flash of intense light had seared
his eyes, even though he was inside,
wide awake in bed.
We're dead, he thought.
In truth, the computer died,
the night light went out, she sighed
and objected thinking that
it was some sort of night passion.
The waves of sound followed
rolling and crashing.
Atomics he shouted out loud.
It must be the Capital so far off,
so god damned proud.
He heard the trees outside sizzle,
and a drizzle of something scorch the roof.
Al-Qaeda, Real IRA, Democrats, Republicans -
any group without reason.
The end of the silly season.
Hate the traitor, love the treason.
Kim Doyle is an Op/Ed poet for The Brunswick Citizen and remembers "Duck and Cover." Now that was really silly.
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