Cataclysmic Scan


Prosthetic limbs
Scattered across the dust-coated floor
Of an emergency room
Somewhere in Texas

The sun rises
Spilling daylight through the dust-smeared windows
“Are we the only ones left?”
The handgun’s cold against her scarred thigh
“There’s no way of knowing right now”
Our volition derailed some time ago

Pink flamingoes and picket fences
Are nothing but car wrecks now
Headlines like:
MIAMI TAKEN OVER BY HAITIAN CULTURE
Take on a whole new meaning
The suits never could’ve predicted this one

They’re coming across the desert now
With no need for water, or multivitamins
Even if the doors are sufficiently barricaded
They’ll be crashing through the plate glass panes
I think we need to ask ourselves:
“Do we really want to live in a world like this?”
I’m not sure I’d have the answer