Sometimes I like to lie on the ground
And find shapes in the nuclear clouds
A mushroom
A flower
A great leaning tower
A mass of white, burial shrouds
Sometimes I sit and piece together
Burnt verses from pages of poetry
That litter the streets
Like great army fleets
Surviving the heat to come rescue me
The population is now apparently less
Than one full football stadium
For I miss the masses
Different style, race, and classes
Before the great wave of uranium
Sometimes I wish to have a nice treat
A can that hasn’t expired
Some beans or greens
Or sweet tangerines
These tastes I have long desired
I haven’t’ enjoyed a treat in some time
For I have grown fairly tired
I don’t possess
The physical strength
A can opener usually requires
