School Tomorrow

Those of us raised up to be
Ready for Armageddon
Or who, slightly older, lived
The Cuban Missile Crisis,
Who were not wealthy enough
To feel safe, not desperate
Enough to feel the sweetness

Of another day to live,
Grew up with disappointment
In the recurring, chore-filled
World that kept resurfacing
Every dawn it didn't end.
We came to crave that mercy
Of disaster, erasure.