Red Shirt Down

Love is not the setting,
but the narrative that
sees us through.

We’ve met our share of
antagonists; some were
pragmatists gone awry,
others were more
tragic,
avenging lives they
rued.

I was never a hero,
but neither were you.

Just citizens
with more to
lose from
running away rather
than toward, into hearts of
the swarm
unleashed by
orphans of peace in
their quarrels with becoming
obsolete,

to death if it suits
the ends.

Gas masks but no
manoeuvrability to
look back,
at the places
we came from,
people who will do more than
shrug at
the absence.

Go on, be heroes, we will stand
and hold the lines.

Love is not a plot point but the
last defence in
a guttersnipe’s
climax, cities on the
edge of collapse;

no deus
ex machina but the
kill shot in
a saga of
impossible odds.

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