When the earth
has smashed itself
back into
its component parts
and the eternal creatures
who evolved
from the radioactivity
can not conceive
of things like "Saturday"
or "mail delivery" or
any "communication requiring
primitive physical movement
of atomic matter"
the Emily Post Institute
will still exist
as a sentient feather
in a black hat
slogging diligently
in the name
of the timeless virtues
consideration
honesty
and respect
through the yellow
sulfuric haze.
This poem © 2013 Emily Cooper.
