I used to wish it on the world, this ultimate war. I felt that they deserved it. The planet better off a few millennia dead and charred and poisoned than infected by the likes of us.
I wished the bombs would drop, until they did.
And still I’m here, breathing the poisoned air, eating contaminated food. Starving for sunlight. Hiding from the others who survived.
And yet, despite myself, I live and live.
I don’t take credit. None of it was me but wishes can come true, if only by coincidence. Perhaps I should have thought to wish for death.
Tom Juniper Poetry 