The Apocalypse smells like wet dog

By ELIZABETH M, age 15

Elizabeth M
00:00 / 00:45

Nobody told me

to dress for an apocalypse

black raincoat,

sweater yellow

‘To match the bees,’ I said,

only they’ve all disappeared

and the leaves are melting red and gold 

into the ground.

 

My jeans are cuffed

because that’s trendy

the zombies shuffling past don’t care

about my jeans

they look away, cross the street

as if my puppy is going to pop their bubble

with her little teeth,

lucky for them she’s not scary,

just soggy.

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