Nukes by Travis Blair

Nukes

The newscaster sporting a fifties pompadour

announced North Korea’s threat

to unleash nuclear holocaust

onto California’s coast.

What did he say? She sat up in bed

wearing wide-eyed alarm.

Nukes coming in from Pyongyang, I yawned.

But not until this evening.

She slid out of bed, pulled on jeans

and a mustard color Venice Beach t-shirt.

What are you doing? I asked.

I’m not going to die here naked

in bed with you, she ran my comb

through her punked pink hair.

What difference does it make?

I pulled a Gauloises filtered from

its lapis blue pack and lit it

with my Zippo.

I have my reputation to protect!

She let go her most indignant snort.

No one is going to know, I exhaled.

We’ll all be dead.

My girlfriend back in Texas will know!

She rolled her eyes.She has no idea

we’re sleeping together.

I think she knows, I grinned

like a Cheshire Cat.

Get dressed, she grumbled

tossing me my pants.

I think we ought to have sex again, I suggested.

After all, this may be our last chance.

She flashed me that look I dread

more than nuclear annihilation.

I stood up and reluctantly put on my pants.

Author bio:

Travis Blair lives a mile down the road from the University of Texas campus in Arlington where he earned his BA in English Lit. After a long career in the movie business, he took up writing poetry. He has two poetry books published, Train to Chihuahua and Little Sandwiches. His poems also appear in various literary journals in the U.S., England, South Africa, and Australia. Travis has two daughters, five grandkids, and hides from them frequently in Manhattan and Mazatlán.