Mold

And this is how it went
on that brilliant, orange-brown morning
of Thursday, February 9th
at 7:38 am.
ZIP! Fwish. Shoom. Silence.
The human race was no more.
It wasn’t the pollution that got them:
smoke black claws throttling them as they slept.
It wasn’t their nuclear playthings:
brightly-colored smoke-em-out-ems
that lit up the skies.
It wasn’t their needy sun turning black and cold
to make them shiver and watch blue limbs fall off.
And it wasn’t a nasty virus
infiltrating their air systems to root in the lungs
and turn their brains and bodies off.
It was us.
We waited in their food and floors,
their clothing and hair and skin.
We waited for the appropriate time to
annihilate all of their assumptions
of who and what we were
when we burst out of pustule homes
to flower simultaneously like a world-encompassing butterfly and
swallow them whole.
ZIP! Fwish. Shoom.
And that’s how it went.

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