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Twenty eight years ago Chernobyl had a meltdown. 
An exclusion zone was created to keep masses from being exposed.
Now abandoned villages transitioning back into base elements lie in decay.
Remnants of a miniature apocalypse is attracting tourists, 
they take pictures and revel in an exciting past they never experienced.
An enormous population and the human propensity to fit in 
have led the species into an urban boredom. 
Like misanthropes watching zombie movies, 
they long for freedom and space resulting from suffering of people
never close, never met, never part of their immediate community.

Nearby in the village of Pripyat,
in a room, fading green paint stains two walls: 
a stem wall beneath a divided picture window, 
another whole wall meeting it in a corner.
The room’s floor is flat, yet its material is unrecognizable.
It is partially covered with dried grey leaves 
from the many young trees growing outside.
They are visible through a pane of unbroken glass and another empty pane.
A fine mold covers the exposed floor.

In the corner are a child’s chair and table.
A person placed a female doll in the chair.
Gray hair sets on her head with its young plastic face.
Blue shirt and shorts cover her.
Whitening mold covers them.
Her red Dutch shoes are turned outward like a clown.

On the table, likely the same person placed a brown stuffed bunny.
There seems to be holes where eyes and a nose were.
In its paw it holds a cracker to its mouth.
Placed for humorous effect.

These two decomposing friends appear to keep one another company.
A vision of urban boredom outside a context of billions, 
outside constant upkeep, 
it is a black mirth to incite the familiar and transgress nature’s anarchy.
There are no zombies to heal the Earth of so many people, 
only human mistakes.

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