The Atomic Age
Brandon Cook
How did they do it?
Those shrewd ones who stood watching clouds blossom,
But not like a white pink morning
Like something else entirely
Like hell releasing fury
A pillar of cloud, a spire of fire
Mushroomed to devour the quiet sky
The horizon shrouded so suddenly in endless power
That even hand and minute and hour stopped to pay homage to our limitlessness:
Good God, the age of men so quickly ushered in
To end every age before it, almost before it begins
Some who stood there watching the sky turn orange
Could recall calvary charges and days of duels and drinking
Brandy and sherry and late night dances,
When there were no treaded tires
Nor airplanes speeding above the spires
Nor warhead's hellish fire
Before the mechanized way of things
And the end of everything
And those who saw the dark lines ring the earth, in trenches and barb-wire,
When war first devolved to utter madness,
How could they stand—they who saw all things burned down (or so they thought)?
They who saw the turning of the century…
How could they stand to see such new insanity?
The sun standing on earth
“O death, destroyer of worlds”
What did they drink at the bar, late on that first night after?
What did they toast to?
Or did they simply drink the bottle down, and fall to the ground?
To what God above did they pray to, to absolve them?
And with what zeal did they kiss the lips they loved?
Did they find welcoming arms, like loving flames of fire?
A sweet oblivion, perhaps, to soothe them
A darkness, come at last, to consume them