While the others dig the hole,
crunching spadefuls up and
out of the time-hard ground,
ocassionally pausing for swigs
of icy-cold canned drinks,
he sits in the corner and writes
a story which has nothing at all
to do with anything else.
They do not know that.
“Hey, hows about we put you in the
hole instead of the time capsule?”
one of them says, and he looks up
from his notebook, squints into the sun,
“You just stay down there and write until.”
“Until when?” he asks. “Just until after the
apocalypse.” They all laugh. He laughs.
They put the time capsule down in the hole.