Unseen plumes bleed as though through burlap sacks,
not concrete: not this protective dome that
harbours whispering nuclear swarms.
Back then, they surely didn't know
what extra doom could bloom beneath this tomb
where Bikini Atoll, usually safe and standing lone
now prone, is laid bare to waste beneath.
The fall from more than fifty bombs held tight,
slept through the night for thirty years. And now;
Poison, lying in wait.
Wait for weather, wait for splits.
Plutonium will leak for miles away like gifts.
The atolls lie supine under
stark blue skies that once saw clouds,
of hydrogen and fear.
Delivered from a generation away,
the legacy from such violent tests is
ready for its time to come.