I came across this poem while cleaning out an old suitcase. It was written in 1988, when I lived in Pasadena, California. I must have had one hell of an argument with my boyfriend, LOL! ~ C.
CLASSICAL FALLOUT
I have always wondered what it would be like
to wake up the morning after the atom bomb.
(You move mechanically
into the kitchen
boiling water for coffee.
Perhaps a bit of Mozart
as a backdrop
to our bitter, uncivilized silence.
You shift uncomfortably
upon your white-hot throne
biting the snarl deeper
into your lip
maintaining the Grand Illusion of war.)
Radiation on my fingertips,
I move to touch your hand
to place the bow on the string
that only yesterday
brought such sweet music.
But now this concert hall
holds only poor players:
violins argue with cellos
flutes plead
your hand withdraws.
The room is heavy with classical fallout.
