After WW3

When the waves boil

And the sun rolls:

The leaves no

Longer rustle.

 

The people lie, silently

Traffic isn't congested:

No movement except

The cockroaches.

 

A barren land, and light

Full of holes, mounds, no hills:

No white or dark

Just greys.

 

The sea is land,

The land is sky,

And the sky

Is poison.