...The Walking Dead

bombshelter

we huddle

against the chipped white
painted brick wall

of this basement;

my screaming infant daughter

and her sobbing erratic father.

warheads whizzing by us,

my flailing head, these

failing feet

coping with the Blitzkrieg.

when the doctor staggers

across this crowded waiting room

uttering the words,

“I’m sorry, but…”

And I know then

that you’re already gone.

Jason

2/27/2013