It's no use.
Every time I figure one out,
Something bigger blossoms,
Forcing me deeper into my cave.
I sort of understood a club.
A spear was within my grasp. (That’s a joke, son.)
Shooting sticks exceeded my limits.
Now we race toward a cliff edge.
I’m going to leave my cave.
Posting a sign at the entrance
“ This is a non-nuclear neighborhood”,
Won’t deter the hordes or missiles.
I’m thinking of building in the Mariana Trench.
Figure most of the big booms go upward,
At 35,000 feet down most of the noise
Will be over my head.
I know it wont be easy.
All that pressure could really bend a guy. (Another joke, son.)
Light and heating could be problems,
And food shopping might be difficult.
On the other hand, lots of meat and poultry
Will be drifting down my way.
Of course TV’S and computers
Will need extensive cable connections.
Allowing for a certain amount of ground shift,
My place will resemble an anchored submarine,
Attached to wooden pier.
I’m thinking of nautical colors.
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