Mushroom Cloud Ii Poem by Les Wordsmore

They're rarely available.
The first time, when it fell through,
a bunch of the guys wanted
to try it too, now its just us
the bag and some orange juice.

A notepad and a single pen sit
on the edge of the desk
in Davidson's basement,
just in case we have something
cool to say or draw,
or cannot speak at all.
We'll share.

It didn't come on all at once
or explode like other things but
eventually the whole basement
was consumed by the mushroom
cloud. White carpet is now
sea-foam, and I rock with its waves.

The walls perspire, dripping,
feeding the sea floor.
I ate only the caps today,
mindfull of impossibilities.
All I see are walls bleeding.

He passed out after awhile,
to rest for work that morning,
if it comes. Will it?
I'll be as before again, somehow.
I'm comfortable, altered.
I've never felt this good.

Yet, I've never been so empty
Or cold, or alone, or silent
or scared, or angry. No- Good.
No, panicked, coming undone.
Darkness. Does refuge exist from
this endless night?

Treading rug I search
for asylum, grasping for
savior as I don't know
how to stay afloat here.
As I lay weeping,
peaking, a teary grin
reconciling the two

It dawned on me that this
basement was underground,
and darkness reigns only
when our eyes are closed. And

as softly as I was consumed
the morning sun shown
through the basement window
and the tide rolled back
from the ocean floor.