Mum, Richard's glowing
in the dark again,
I thought you said
we shouldn't play
in that funny rain.

The cat's parboiled
and Grandad's cooked,
there's no word of this
in the yellow page
of the telephone book.

Nobody rings up
any more. Do they?
Our Civil Defence
is not making sense.
Why can't we go outside?

It's not our fault
a ship blew up,
and most of Wellington
fried. I'm sorry Mum,
but you look a sight.

Not a hank of hair on your head,
you look just like Grandad did -
before he dropped stone dead.
Mum. Why don't you answer me?
Why have you locked the door?

There's no sense in putting
your head in the oven,
there is no gas
any more.

© John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR