Home » Poetry » Day 155 – Bomb Timers

Day 155 – Bomb Timers

They wear them on their faces,
their bomb timers,
etched in glowing shades of red.

Most days their display is still,
one fixed number,
by the crease of their brows professed.

But the warmth of any joy provokes it,
starts the countdown,
each of them sweating zero until

that prophesied end of happiness which,
tick, boom,
they saw coming all along.

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3 thoughts on “Day 155 – Bomb Timers

  1. Just wanted to say, good luck with your project! You’re doing a great job so far, and to see you just over a third of the way in really inspires me to keep up with my own project (doing and documenting at least one new thing a week).

    All the best.

  2. Kind of partial to the analogue, they can offer both North, and South, whether sweating beneath a Sun, or asleep beneath the Moon, something about knowing the direction home, as time trickles its final fade, but should none here be abouts, then in that moment best not wait, hence the ice begins to break.

    Random thought from the glowing shades of red.

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