by Rob Littler
Met a man took me down a ladder
To see a bunker his family built, all gleeful
And merry that the end is nigh—
That we may actually be at a series of brinks.
Red eyes glowed as we descended down
The self-made man-hole to a room dimly lit.
He conjured up a spicy beverage
And 25-year-old raisins from a jar
Then handed me a hand crank flashlight—
Begging me on to turn the device,
Leading me on a tour of the facility.
I thought about what if this were suddenly forever.
Or at least the next two months, then what?
His stodgy face churned on with delight.
As ever crowded we became in the encounter
The more a sense of doom entered his lament.
We passed a portion of the food storage area
When he pointed to a series of secret spaces,
For hiding when we ever are invaded.
He opened one and climbed inside.
His tone was calm and assured. He looked
As if he was in a casket. Just then—
The increasing need for escape arose in me.
Yet I could not succumb to the motion needed to flee.
I was spellbound, catatonic, hearing
Without listening, thinking my own safe place
Is where I don’t have to pretend I would not
Rather be dead when it comes...at the end.
Posted on 07/12/2013
Copyright © 2019 Rob Littler
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/14/13 at 07:31 PM|
Claustrophobic, this would not be my choice of salvation. Your poem gives me the heebie jeebies the deeper you explore with this fellow - most effective. I like the use of the "red eyes" glowing - ominous, startling. He seems very comfortable here and you've painted the contrast of him with your own thoughts very well. Thank you.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/18/13 at 01:57 PM|
Great topic, Rob, and well expressed. I'm with you in your closure. Begs the question: Is it worth going on when one can no longer live life in a normal, independant way? Whether it be a nuclear attack or being forced into a retirement home due to old age.