Two Drunks Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Two swaying figures wandered down the street
fluorescent shirts said 'SHATTER BOMB' in red.
They had escaped the detox clinic prematurely,
and still digested their diazepam, taking sweet time.
He'd picked her right away, what lovely hair, so blond
blue eyes and velvet skin, washed Levis jeans.
Her place was huge, a breezy balcony due south
there would be bliss between the two, 'twas destiny.

Not anyone could tell or really cared about the fact
that when you have two bombs in close proximity
you need to worry over ticking clocks, and not just one,
and if the day arrives when birds and squirrels hold their breaths,
as if it were a clear prerequisite before the blow.
Then we remember that there always was a dual risk
and one that blows will be the trigger for it all.