Going MAD

If it does come down to marking minutes,
our masses huddled in cinder block basements,
or blankets in pink porcelain bathtubs,
awaiting that first tinge of vibration
while Air Force One climbs over the Atlantic,
those wide-eyed advisors spitting scenarios
at the president, and he, hands on knees,
nodding this way for civilization,
and that way for a democracy
of bathtubs and basements
where last minutes drip their seconds
back down the ages, a fox terrier whines,
baby plays with a white soap dish,
and a tiny crystalline elephant
falls from its stand on
the knick-knack shelf,
and when it does come down to marking minutes
with no more time to play, pet the dog,
hug your family, and throw the watch away.


(Arkansas Magazine, Arkansas Democrat, January 13, 1985)