Stan Petrovich (10/27/1950 / Fort Riley, KS)
White and powdery are our
Faces, as they draw near one another,
Sticking out sticky tongues
Covered with dead flies.
Our red eyes are sullen and sunken
And contain nothing like love anymore.
Bright and blazing noise has turned our thoughts to mush.
We have developed webbed toes that we use to
Flap in the muck that was once called cities.
The seas are now very much part of life,
And strange new forms have evolved.
It would have been up to our scientists
To derive antibiotics against the dread posed by seabird
Droppings, but what good are the scientists with
Webbed feet and mouths full of flies.
Comments about this poem (The Ashen by Stan Petrovich )
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