How Hot Was It

How hot was it! We’ll not forget that day, 
when high in the clouds, flew the plane 
 “Enola Gay”

Children made to shadows, melted into brick, 
and now in urban cities, still they turn up sick

How hot you are my mother! Your skin so 
brittle-black, your caring hand now carbon,
they put you in a sack

Where are you darling children, my wife of 
jet black hair? 
Vapourized one morning in Nagasaki’s air

And when I hear the drone, of a motor overhead,
I think a million suns, of atomic awesome dread

How hot was it that day!


Written for contest 25/7/15
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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Pinet Avatar
July 25, 2015 at 8:06 PM
Your descriptive wording and the gruesome imagery brought this horror to life with stark reality. Emile. #7
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