Acts of Intercession

We gather on rooftops, slosh gin and champagne down our throats. We haul chandeliers up six flights, throw them over, laugh when praying crowds flee thousands of glass shards shattering across Michigan Avenue. We give no warning, because we received little warning: a single broadcast, worldwide. A ten-minute countdown.

Under five minutes until the flash, the heat, the shockwave. We should probably kneel and genuflect, huddle under beds, whisper please forgive me or I love you before burning into shadows.