The Painless Apocalypse
Post-Nuke Restaurant by Sam Van Olffen
The Painless Apocalypse
“It looks like the empire
will die today,” she said
as she spread marmalade
across her lightly toasted bread.
“Where shall we go when
the sirens blow and the sky
comes tumbling down?”
“Well,” he said, “the people will
riot once their TV’s fall silent,
but I think we should sit back
and relax.”
He stirred another sugar
through the currents of his coffee,
“You see I believe
we are already dead.”
“Oh!” she replied with mock delight,
“it isn’t so bad to have already died.”
“It’s nothing like I thought: not
the painful shot or the impoverished gasp
as life slips our hands.”
“You’re such a dear,” he smiled
as he smeared more butter upon
the last pumpernickel slice.
“But it has become quite clear,
dead or not, we’re still here.”
“Death is rather pleasant, isn’t it?”
she mused, wiping the last crumb
from the edge of her lips.
He laughed as he reached for
her delicate hand,
“You have it, my darling:
we are but sand upon sand,
we are the dead without dying
we just live without the worry
of suffering our own denial.”
They both stood up and danced
as thieves ransacked their lands
and the world drowned in the
sound of its music.
