Bunker by Dorothy Lune

I’m in the bunker now, no light except the dimmed
one swinging & flickering in the middle of the room—
this plague will be here for a while I’m sure. I open
a can of spicy tomato flavoured beans & microwave
it in a translucent yellow container. I drop the bowl
onto the dark oak table then sit down & crush
the red feather filled cushion. The calendar swings slowly in
front of me— not of much use now, I crossed all the
days out— what’s the difference? With the bowl of
beans steaming on my face I grab the leftover kelp
to oil & salt it. I sprinkle the diced kelp in the bowl
melting into the beans like tasty liquified grass
turning into a charred emerald colour with heat.
The beans are like warm packets of spicy chow,
good enough for me today. Kelp in a bean dish is
much more memorable than a calendar. Every
morning & night here is a slow but sure cremation.

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