The Blue Girl

The Blue Girl

As sole survivor in this zone, I walk up to the tanks alone,

To estimate the bodies lost, extrapolate the human cost,

Of nuclear warfare on the few, who live here in the fluid blue.

The sludge inside the first urn stinks, of rotting flesh, violets and pinks,

I wonder if, suspended here, this poor boy used to dream or fear,

The mushroom cloud that flourished here, as he clung to his girl… so near.

The blue girl floats within her womb, the test tube-capsuled, frozen tomb,

Inverted, nude, her lifeform squirms, her body warming up in terms,

Of radiation-blasted heat, which peeled her skin off like a sheet,

Her expectations sore-denied, her liver grilled, her kidneys fried,

As she concedes the life that died, when doctors sealed her fate inside,

A stasis tube of forlorn hope. I close my eyes, I claw and grope,

Till I find her umbilical cord, and say the sacrificial word,

Her cryogenic dreams decay, as I pull her sweetheart… away.

Isla McNair is sensational