The mail in Japan was always delivered.
Except in Hiroshima after the bomb.
Curious, isn’t it, how life persists,
forever insisting on going on?
1948: I was five, I recall.
A boy, more mature,
on a bike — maybe 12 —
on 76th Street just off 11th,stamped an ant hill
just for the thrill of it.
I sharpened a Popsicle stick
on the sidewalk and
stabbed a hole in bike's front tire.
Scrambling ants reconstructed their hill.
The tire was mended. My Mom paid the bill.
Whatever happens, life will persist.
Until and unless the meteor hits.
Or Trump is elected and world goes to bits.
