We are all
Schrödinger’s cats
alive and dead
at the same time, inside
these four walled chambers,
until the doors are
permitted to open.
This deluge of bodies
a flood of fire,
waves of grief
rains of missiles
winds of virus,
navigating a choppy sea.
Once we are out
we run amuck
to pick up
what’s left of life,
trudge uphill
to make up for
the plateau,
the lost time,
the cursed epoch.
The ideas of apocalypse
have mutated.
Noah’s ark shapeshifts
into vaccines, fire brigades and
peace. How long will we
float on, how long until we sink?