Post-Apocalyptic Postcard to My Parents
Do you remember that summer,
the tv on till the National Anthem
signaled the snow of static
and quiet, and we’d sleep easy,
then wake to see if he’d slunk away,
or was still baring his teeth to fight?
We knew either way,
Nixon was roadkill.
Now the thief in chief
is more Wendigo than weasel.
He says he could shoot us down
in the streets and survive.
And he could.
At night I mute my phone
and switch on an old mystery show
to see justice served in the end.
I miss you.
You wouldn’t want to be here.
7 thoughts on "Post-Apocalyptic Postcard to My Parents"
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We must have been posting our postcard poems at the same time! I really like the passage of time in yours – and the words “thief in chief.”
I love those last three lines. And they take me to my mom-in-law who also “wouldn’t want to be here.” (But I hear her comments constantly.)
love:
thief in chief
and I do exactly this as well:
At night I mute my phone
and switch on an old mystery show
to see justice served in the end.
I just posted on Nancy’s poem. You had an interesting workshop. Like this a lot. Write on, on topic!
You weave together political commentary and familial love to create an unsettling and uniquely powerful warning and love letter here, all at once.
There’s a lot going on in this poem, some political, some personal, some nostalgic, and a dark ending. Worthwhile read.
Man, this gets me, too. I keep thinking about how glad I am that my father, sister Mary, and brother John are missing this horror story. It’s bad.