ITCHY
When bombs abound, one's liable to go boom.
Do you suppose we'll last another year?
If not, the earth will never shed a tear.
What a scourge we've been upon her skin,
subjecting her to every human sin.
When we are gone, she'll just have extra room.
We talk about our passing as the cease
of all existence, but this isn't true.
Except for pets, no living thing would rue
the passing of our species from the earth.
In time, the world will heal her human hurt
until the brains of cockroaches increase.
Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com
Next poem, Spy .