Mike Nichols
Humanity was saved
by the next plague.
The gluttonous use of resources ceased.
Humans huddle dirty in their dark family
enclaves and recall meaningless bygone things:
Packed tight second lane from the right
rolling home at ten MPH to
Binge watch streaming TV.
Tonguing the clotted orange
Cheeto dust from all five fingers.
Consider buying bigger jeans.
Believing that we are the center of the universe.
Thinking God does love us.
Recall the faces of the dead.
Invite them into this dancing circle
of candlelight. Unafraid, because the dead carry
no diseases — only glad tidings.
Mike L. Nichols is a graduate of Idaho State University and a recipient of the Ford Swetnam Poetry Prize. He lives and writes in Eastern Idaho. Look for his poetry in Rogue Agent, Scryptic Magazine, Ink&Nebula, Plainsongs Magazine, and elsewhere. Find more at mikenicholsauthor.com
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