Proud fathers of progress, eagerly name their successes strong manly names like:

     George or Honest John.

     Joe or Tsar Bomba.

     Red Beard or Fat Man.

 

“Our sons will pierce the sky and deliver peace,” their shouts ring in the ears of any who dare question the creation of this phallic emancipation.

 

The patriarchs preach science from their pulpits constructed of:

     Ash and bone.

     Smoke and stench.

     Arbeit macht frei.

 

“Everything that is good begins in destruction,” their smiles betray their anticipation.

 

The very sky itself screams at the violation, but mother earth, she only shudders at the:

     violent rape.

     octopus tendrils of cataclysm spread

    like the blood of the prostitute on the alley pavement.

 

“She was asking for it, they always get what they deserve in the end,” backs slapped in masturbatory laudation.