Contrails marked the sky in the glow of the morning sun,
The apocalypse had arrived with little fanfare,
Televisions cried out in agony,
Carrying the drone that signalled annihilation.
The Joneses and Smiths,
And McPhersons and Hickses,
And families of all kinds across all countries amassed,
In whatever shelters they could find from the impending mushroom clouds,
As the wealthy men responsible sobbed and drank.
So many took to their forums in woe,
Lamenting the fate that had befallen them.
"We can't afford a shelter" cried one,
"We'll be vaporized in the blast!"
"Consider yourself lucky" spoke another,
"We have no shelter either, and will surely be sick with radiation!"
"It would be better to die" preached one,
"Than to live in the future we will inherit!
Count yourselves among the privileged many,
Who will not see the ruin brought upon our fair world!"
They bickered as the sun rose,
And long into the evening until a second glow overtook the horizon,
As the bombs fell upon them,
They perished, all the same.
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