Holotape Poetry Slam Entry #2
You are Nuka Cola and whiskey
the hand and the glove
You are the rolling fog
blanketing the night
and the tick tick tick
of the Geiger Counter
vault dwellers often wear.
You are the cry of the trader
and the ferals stirred into action
by blood in the air --
But you are not
the soothing rain on the crops.
Or fresh water on the lips of parched travelers.
Or the burning rain that pours down
right when we fail to find shelter
And you are definitely not
the bubblegum on the counter
of a long forgotten kitchen
nestled in Sanctuary Hills.
Perhaps you are the ghoul in the metro station.
Or the seagull winging softly over Salem.
However, there's no way you could be a glowing hub-flower
like a beacon at night
bidding lost traders safely
to the next town on the left --
or the right --
of that nasty crater haunted by Deathclaws
so pure in their appetite for flesh.