World War Three

Fueled by hatred, the green Wolds buckled where the nuke-heads hit, dry-stone walls exploding like buboes. It was a picture postcard June when the drones honed in on our coast. Pylons melted to the ground, attack jets screaming in the valleys, flicked like flies by Christ Knows Who. Sheep sizzled like burning wigs. Trees shrieked. Forests flamed like solar flares. Women sank in lava, their children oozed. Men fused in tractor cabs, ploughs floated on fluid fields. Searing, the missiles nailed the piling clouds, towering lungs of atomic mushrooms rising. The Cities of the world saw their dreadful fate. Desperate tongues made pitiful pleas but as the Third World War burst forth it was too simply too little too late.