Poem a Week: Apocalypse Real Estate / by Beth Winegarner

"eine Treppe" by YtvwlD. Creative commons.

"eine Treppe" by YtvwlD. Creative commons.

This is the house you want to own when shit goes down.
Its blast-proof windows will withstand bullets,
hydrogen bombs, political rhetoric,
and they come pre-sealed with duct tape.

The walls are rubberized concrete,
ready to shimmy when the big one hits,
ready to suck down the heat of climate change
or the cold of the sun's death.

These floors are melt-resistant steel,
just in case those terrorists fly a plane into them
or your ex sets fire to the place.

With the touch of a button the kitchen converts
to a bomb shelter, complete with compostable toilet,
water- and sun-free garden and tankless heated shower:
just the thing for when the Koreans nuke us
to high heaven or your stock bottoms out.

The paint and carpets will match themselves
to your clothes in case of a break-in;
those burglars will never spot you.

No, there's no bedroom.
But you don't actually sleep at night, do you?
There's much too much to worry about
for you to be able to get any shuteye, anyway.