If I wake up in World War III
I'll watch the sailboats first,
Whitney humming in my head
And a quiet Monday thirst.
The news reads 8.1 somewhere—
The earth alphabetizes its minerals.
I feel like I want to go home.
It's okay if you're not alone.
Autopilot to the royal flush,
The promised hand at noon.
Monday calibrates its cards out slow,
The harbour archives the moon.
Who can tell me what's for lunch?
Only the birds know.
Only the bees know.
The world on fire, and so—
I hum along. The sailboat turns.
The tsunami fades to screen.
Houston hits the note. I'm here.
Choosing digital ibuprofen.