Here’s to the Gardeners

by Todd Mercer
 
It’s only going to hurt during our precipitous decline.
After the bombs drop, when most to all people are gone,
though we will miss seeing it, nature’s coming back.
 
Weeds, then trees will sprout through asphalt of unused highways.
Towers tumble sooner than they would with basic maintenance.
These monuments to human greatness were always temporary.
 
A countdown clock was ticking since construction finished. Rust
and wear from the elements don’t quit. They do fast demolition work,
when no one’s fighting back by laboring to borrow more years.
 
It won’t hurt for long if the measure’s geologic time. One thin layer
in the sandstone’s rings will stand for what we’ll suffer through.
 
Those alive when we are down to the last of each of everything
might feel angry at their dire fates, but they’ll be plenty busy
coping with immediate concerns. Surviving and not surviving.
 
Impotent grudges aimed at forbearers won’t produce a tangible reprieve,
won’t augment a shrinking food supply. The pain will pass, sure as each age ends.
 
After so much grief and panic, expect an extended stretch of peace,
almost as if no one passed through this living place. Almost good as new.