He awoke with a start and shaking himself
to ward off the morning cold,
he arose from his bed on the concrete shelf
to see what the day might hold.
After coaxing his fire to life, he checked
how much coffee was left in the can
that he’d found in the back of the trucks that wrecked
moments after the conflict began.
He considered the coffee more than he deserved
(though it wasn’t the best he had tasted)
as he pondered the things that had been preserved
after all of the rest had been wasted.
The brilliant white flash, the shock of the blast
and the subsequent fireball,
all the horrors he witnessed were more than surpassed
by the fact he’d outlived them all.
With his parka zipped up and a rifle in hand
he stepped cautiously from his abode.
All alone with his thoughts in a desolate land
through the massive destruction he strode.
For a very long time he had lingered bereft
of a partner who might meet his need.
And he wondered aloud was there anyone left
who’d be willing to harbor his seed?
That his future looked bleak with no hope of surcease
was a prospect he could not ignore,
yet took heart at the thought that at least he had peace
at the end of the short, hard, war.