Four Minute Warning
Four minute warning they said
At the height of the Cold War
Just exactly four minutes
Not a split second more.
Four minutes warning of
Nuclear missiles on track.
Enough time apparently
For us to fire back.
Having got the message
What would we to do next,
Grab our loving partners
And indulge in wild wild sex,
Then, if it was a false alarm
The panic of weeks or more
Hoping against hope our
Personal birth rate didn’t soar?
Have that final little ciggie
Because prospects look bleak
Ignoring the hard earned fact
You’d just been stopped week?
Let the rising tension
Push you over the edge
And take a final Scotch
In spite of taking the pledge?
And then the powers decided
Four minutes was too long.
The common herd would
Just use the time all wrong.
They’d just puff and panic
Scream, cry, and shirk
Instead of just stoically
Carrying on with their work.
All the lost productivity
All the pain and terror
Just because that button
Was maybe pushed in error.
There’s not even a minute now
They can’t be bothered to try
The worthy will be in shelters
And the peasantry will just die.
It’s called Survival Of The Fittest
It’s nothing to do with being healthy,
It’s just one of the many privileges
Of being ludicrously stinking wealthy.
Copyright © Terry Ireland | Year Posted 2022
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