I will swim in your bright turquoise toxic lake
against instruction not to.
Paddle board kissing,
Unicorn floatie sailing
like Commander Voronin
standing on the bow
of his icebreaking Cheliuskin.
I will wave my selfie stick high
in the ether to capture
the calcium salt and metal oxides,
the beguiling shades colored mysteriously
as the Chernobylite crystals of childhood.
Silvery white as Cesium-137.
Blue as Plutonium-239.
My shining moment, glowing like the radioactive
power plant ash that brightens my social reach,
burning my flesh, collecting likes
with chemical stickiness.
I will stand on my raft, waving a FOMO flag
to our imaginary island nation paradise.
You will wear your bikini, provoking body-harm
shame on the shores of iridescent waste.
It only takes one Insta in the Siberian Maldives
to burn the eyes of everyone who sees us.
________
Bruno Corbo is a freelance writer and perpetually emerging poet living in New York. His love for poetry spans the decades of his life with a collection of poetry books piled high behind him as he writes.
________
