(Poem) Nuclear Chicken

Who’s the chicken?
The eagle?
The bear?
The nightingale?

“You back down first.”
“No, you.”
“No, I insist.”

Ever closer winter draws,
as children play chicken
with their toys of
mass destruction.

Who has the bomb?
We do.
We are the bomb.

The bear craves meat.
The eagle seeks freedom.
The nightingale cries,
fearing what’s to come.