In the mail, a government blue letter arrived today.
It told of a coming apocalypse, crisis or war,
Some unspecified “emergency”, at once near and far.
Seven hells may be visited upon us all, they say,
But fear not, the government has sent a pamphlet.
Armed with this life-preserving paper, I head to the store.
Three days of food and water, the government has prescribed.
But glancing down the aisle, I find familiar fears revived:
How to pay for what I need, and now to stock even more.
Against the cold of winter, blankets should be kept in stock.
Advice I can finally follow, music to my ears.
How lucky am I, to not have heated my home in years.
Cold as I may be, but well prepped for an energy shock.
Safe shelter will I need from the missiles, bombs and war’s strife,
But still is my life-preserving paper on where to hide
And I know my fragile four walls won’t keep me safe inside.
They shake while my neighbors engage in preserving life.
These “emergencies” may be real, and yet they feel absurd,
Water to my neck, gasping for air, already drowning.
The drums of war are beating, are you not listening?
Over the hum and drum of life, they hardly can be heard.
All of this, I prepare in solitude.
Out of my own pocket,
And as best I can.
But fear not, the government has sent a pamphlet.
