I stand on the balcony, facing north.
Out there, not too far, is the DMZ.
A panicked news anchor, the third or fourth,
yells things I don’t understand. But I see
the nuclear symbols flashing. My tea
chills. My hands shake. Am I caught in their cause?
Alone in an apartment with white walls
far too thin to stop an army. My fear
mocks me. Streets are empty. My stomach falls.
Am I clever enough to disappear?