I live six hours in the future,

Relative to family and other loved ones.

I wake each morning to news of the world

As the Atlantic Ocean shields them

From dreadful awareness a bit longer.

 

I know the missiles are airborne,

The tsunami approaches,

The revolution has kicked off,

Or just that the avocado yield was low.

 

I’m fighting the urge to scream,

To call, to text, to message.

Anxiety crushes my chest,

My head exploding from pressure.

 

This could be it, the end,

And you don’t know,

And you cannot be in my arms.

 

Should I reach out through

Electronic tentacles and

Disturb your last moments?

(Selfishly, I want to hear

Your voice one last time!)

 

Or must I let you sleep

Peacefully into your annihilation,

Contented in your ignorance, as I forgo

One last goodbye?