Her face grew hot
and her stomach ate itself
as they watched the fire cloud
shoot into the sky.
“Is this really happening?”
….
her toddler laughs.
No one hears the music now,
and someone knocked over
their beer—
“turn up the fucking news Rachel!”
but even the coiffed bobble heads
don’t know what to say.
What a show!
What a marvelous show,
the airport is a crater
and a million vapor souls
billow out
to make grease stains of it all.
Grab the child and put on your shoes
“where are your shoes?”
grab the keys
“what about the cat?”
raining fire is melting this party
and the roof top is leaking onto the street.
Keep breathing
even if it burns—
hold on to the child
hold on to his hand
get in the car
and drive away from the screams.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
Rusted Honey 
Terrifying…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think I held my breath the whole time I read this! The urgency was so real!
LikeLiked by 1 person
There is a grit to your poetry that I can’t get enough of. Spectacular, hard and gorgeous piece!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow a story and a poem in one 👍🏻 you let the language almost act like a plot device if that makes sense. Sometimes I get impressions that I can’t really explain 😬
LikeLiked by 1 person
reviewku
this is as brilliant
as the fusion bomb it describes.
a focused snap shot.
LikeLiked by 1 person
WOW so powerful and my worst nightmare. Really good !!
LikeLiked by 1 person