We light candles and are thankful
for the gas stove poaching our eggs.
Some in this city think the end of times
is near and head to Wal-Mart
for two-week supplies of necessities,
as if a fortnight were eternity
and salvation came in plastic bags.
We're not so prepared.
There is no life beyond
the permanent power outage,
except for terriers and pidgeons.
Our basement is no cellar.
We anticipate a few good meals
before our food runs out or spoils.
Rumpus Exclusive: An Excerpt from Moscow at Midnight
11 hours ago