Day 1,081

The building was a time bomb.
It was only a matter
of when it would collapse.
People still went about their days.
Children shouted to one another.
Ran up and down stairs.
Mothers borrowed clothes,
shoes, anything to use
as a diaper. Their lives
were a time bomb. The city,
a time bomb. The sky
is a time bomb: no one knows
where the next explosion
will come from. The next
quadcopter. The next
decree of starvation. The next
displacement. And yet
they went on. Knowing
the building was damaged.
Knowing it had been crippled.
Knowing that, one day — one
night — what they dreaded
would happen. Knowing
the building would fall,
floor upon floor. Knowing —
because there was nowhere
else to go — the inevitable
would occur. They
would be trapped
under the weight
of one another. Of all
they had gathered. Preserved.
Their children’s bodies
flung into the air, then
dropping, like
murdered birds.