The Last Laugh
J. Schultz
Wind, vicious wind, howls ‘cross the scarred landscape, Exposing the folds of burned and riled fields that once held promise, Whipping the discarded banners that once led partisans, Tearing the weathered canvas that no longer offers shelter, Dragging unwilling soil over the vast scattered wreckage of the once proud, Filling in the cracks of spidered windshields and bottle-glass windows too proud to quit. Ignoring the kerfuffle and cacophony outside, Deep inside the reinforced bunker draped by rocky robes, Far from narrowed eyes too judgmental to approve this indiscretion, Fed by aging carbohydrates stored in retort pouches on rusting shelves, The last biped reads the ancient comic book again, Until spasms of laughter fill the space, As is the custom ‘round here until the last candle flickers, And darkness, majestic purplish and velvety, offers honeyed succor.
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