Monday, 6 July 2015

Apoemalypse. Armversegeddon. Three Poems About the Apocalypse.

Today we've got another taster in the run up to the Apocalypse track at Nine Worlds Geekfest. This time, a series of apocalyptic poems by Matt Wieteska. Matt is one of the writers behind, among other things, Zombies, Run!, an app that takes your regular morning jog and turns into a harrowing dash for survival. Matt is going to be at Nine Worlds this year talking to us about zombies and apocalypse survival. Come see him at our Zombie Breakfast and Ragnarok sessions!

we were in the library
when the warning came,
push notifications
and staccatto vibrations
crying out table to table

it took us a moment to believe it
still whispering, despite our panic, because
there are some rules you just can't break
and by the time we'd donned our coats
and made our way outside
we only had
five minutes left

and you asked me what I wanted to do
with the last five minutes of daylight
and though other couples did;
madly against trees and walls and even on the swing-set;
that wasn't how we were anymore

so we walked up the hill a little way
to the bench we used to sit on,
always keeping our eyes to the heavens
so as not to squander anything

and we stood there
our dirty feet on the wood

at the last minute you took my hand

the past didn't matter any more

we were watching the last of it pass towards us
through boundless space
and all we had left was the absolution of the future
which waited in the coming cold


it's probably more than most new couples get.
the shared knowledge of an unique experience.

so I suppose we're lucky
to know these subterranean walls
the time-locked doors
these panels of controls
which we hope to never use:
the furniture of our days

and the phone
which never rings

until it does
and we share that moment of disbelief
at what we're told to do

but we're well trained
and our reflexes take over.

yes, we're a perfect pair
we who have know
the wait and the authorisation codes
the recycled air and the fact that
This Is Not A Drill

except for the language barrier.
I never could read cyrillic,
and I suppose you made the first move.
but that's ok, I'm a modern guy.

the etiquette is different now
and we don't need to share an alphabet
to understand the messages we've launched
across continents
which will be known only by their effects.


the problem with it is
that by the time you recognise the signs
it's already fatal

increased body temperature
heightened pulse
a certain nervousness

there's been no cure yet found,
and the number of cases rises every second
the contagion requires barely a touch to spread

sometimes even a glance will do it
or a word out of place
you know how it is - once these things get under your skin
there's no getting rid of them

the second stage is characterised by a kind of delirium
words fail to be processed properly
and the tiniest symbols acquire supernatural importance

experts from the C.D.C estimate that in two weeks
the infection rate will be 90%
at that point it's just a matter of time

there's little that can be done now
except wait for the end
mercifully it's a quiet death

the mind fills with one object
physical needs are ignored
in favour of

the flashing of your eyes
the quiet moments before dawn

and the silence in your smile

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