Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Questions

Is this a cosmic joke
or a sign of our
penultimate days
with no escape
to a floating space
while we watch
the theatrical spectacle
of fissile demolition
on this maddened planet
going down within
its finite, closed system?
Salvageable or not,
recycled or not,
can anyone tell
how fast?
Are we all insentient and blind?

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Prompt: the penultimate