Streamline missiles hurdle
through aerospace like silver
finned tuna. Remote guided
warhead system, installed with
microchip technology, to track
and annihilate as though
they are sharks, smelling blood
for the first time, with their red
coned-noses shredding skyline.
Efficient killing. Cluster bombs
blossom into a full fire assault.
The sudden weight of shellshock
makes the limbs grow heavier
than a lead curtain, an iron husk.
There is no escape. No hiding
in the belly of a makeshift bunker.
Only the wind’s violent shriek
and ground-shuddering boom
before the initial strike.
John Roth is a writer from Ohio whose poems have most recently appeared in The Orange Room Review, Jellyfish Whispers, Dead Snakes, Boston Poetry Magazine, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, and The Blue Hour, among a few others. He’s totally amazing at parkour.