The silent smoke signaled

something was about to strike,

no orange, or blue,

just chemically induced gushes of black conquered the sky

in a matter of minutes.

It lingered over the steel target for hours

before the whole fucking bridge collapsed.

Rush hour,

homeward bound,

already irritated that they’re not moving,

while one lady screamed about how hundreds have just died.

 

I sat under the powerless patio

sipping rum,

after the rain showed up a little too late.

Others had left their cars a block away,

walking against traffic.

Roads were closed,

shut down,

sirens everywhere,

and yet the city honked as if that was enough to move mountains.

 

I sat beside and watched until the clouds dispersed,

traffic slowly began to move again,

the power came back on,

and everyone went about the rest of their day

that was already over.

 

I turned on the news,

“No casualties.”

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