Wasteland

The world ends ruled by rough hard men riding
on motorcycles across deserts with
irradiated light bouncing off of chrome,
waging war to each other with chains and
diesel, the women bound by hand and fist
to do the bidding of their leather clad
masters, and men muscular at their call
to hurt or kill for them in brutal ways,
every clan vies to outdo each other
in cruelty, This is the order that man
arrived at once the bomb was dropped and life
made scarce, the world now dealt with sex and oil,
with trading of women’s bodies made flesh
for vile men to abuse, all power rests in
the loins of a few rough hard men, in the
deserts, in a fight over what little
water remains, this is how the world ends