fake barns

by Dylan Krieger

like armageddon in a meadow the buildings fall down all around us
one nearly crushes your unconscious but it turns out you’re standing
square inside the negated space of its sole window this is after all the
cars have passed their idiot madrigals still thumping our ear drums
this is after the last packaged organics are confiscated for storefront
display and the one percent pose as cyborgs to qualify for an employment
cruise to china but after the fall of such an action-packed empire even
the apocalypse feels anticlimactic so we camp out alongside the lapsed
countryside turnpike under the shade of the fake barns with their
non-tarmac charm and shake our fists bicker over whether the ocean
still exists and hope whatever mushroom clouds arise on the horizon
this time will prove only slyly disguised two-dimensional too but in the
meantime oh me oh my how the nuclear families point and smile point
and smile when they drive by like they believe their eyes.