The Survivor

The markets crashed
around him. Fingers crunched 

frankly concupiscent
numbers: expenditure 

on things like ‘reality porn’
and Viagra. Everywhere, debris

and embattled traders
smashed their cell-phones, then

unobserved synchronised
diving off quivering

corporate towers. Corpses
piled up. Some noted The End; not

him. Always punctilious
double-checked the symmetry 

between life style (sex
shopping) and the neat account

of next year’s income. Debt
didn’t shame but venerated 

joie de vivre, or at least vivre. Yes,
the undead scavenged in the streets

post-collapse, werewolves
pillaged, skeletons littered the ruins

and so on; but he calculated
to purchase a solar-powered

vibrator to stimulate his lover
(sponge-fleshed, life-sized 

Marilyn Monroe) in case
of bad Viagra. He was a survivor.

Ali Alizadeh

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