APOCALYPTIC MAMBO
by Howie Good
The shadow of the bomber
climbs the Empire State Building,
and men with French cuffs
decide because they can
whose child drowns in fire,
whose world disappears.
Then they glance at their watches
and gather up their papers,
and we feel dark, insolvent wings
pass over us when least expected,
while shoving it in, or pulling it out,
or reading this.