The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 4 | Page 11

6

A realist’s utopia

Singing towns singed

by me and you.

The policeman cries,

there’s no one left

to protect. I laugh,

beside the pyre,

fearless. A realist’s

utopia. The worst

has already

happened, so light

a match, let’s see

what we’re made of.