After the Collapse

There are no shortcuts after the collapse.
There are only choices.

A bonfire perhaps, sending each board and beam
into the air in fire and smoke until nothing is left
save ashes,
and you begin again from scratch,
shivering in the winter air once the flames have died down.

Or perhaps sifting through the rubble
to find the few treasures and beams without rot
(and there are always a few)
that will let you build again,
slowly, with less fire, more work, more pain, and a better rate
of survival.

Or surrender. becoming part of the rubble, part
of the chaos, and waiting for someone,
stranger, lover or vandal to light you all afire,
dancing a while in your pain until the last coal grows cold,
and leaving.

There are no shortcuts after the collapse.
There are only choices.

About this poem

A poem of buildings and people.

The picture was taken near Cambridge, NY.

Tom