After the world ended
we muddled on —
ran errands, did chores,
went for long walks.

The parks were still open
even if the museums
were all closed — We
peered through glass
doors into shadows.

Streets were cluttered
with debris — Sometimes
we had to step over
a stray arm, a dusty
baby doll, a book
missing half its pages.

In the main square, vendors
sold what was left
from their pantries —
dried apples, sacks of meal,
a jar of tartar sauce.

The air waves were silent
but we had the birds —
we would always have the birds
and they taught us
how to whistle. It was as if
we never knew how before.