Peter Lewis Holmes Poet Free verse

After the Mushroom Clouds Have Gone

being in this tin womb, dark and safe,
that's the thing; inside the dark corners 
and air-lock doors, it's a floating life 

toothpaste and pureed stew float by;
still, here's not to dwell on the minutiae
and other small things

and the silent solar-wind powers on, 
while below, the earth, the sea, the clouds, 
the blue and green, the tempered purple hues,
tinge brown

and if from the land you peer up here, 
from where the earth is dying, you'll see
me sigh, through flocks of hope, 
and notice that I'm crying

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