The cold warriors are dying –
amongst events they slip away
like the crackle of a spray can
and its hiss which turns to a roar

The cold warriors are dying –
the second movement of Dvorák
lingers in the musky swampland
of Florida, among torn flags

The cold warriors are dying –
falling away one by sad one
like mist withdrawing from windows
leaving thin dilemmas for drips

The cold warriors are dying –
their children are melancholy
unsure quite what this means to them,
despite, of course, that soft fizzing

The cold warriors are dying –
for arguments cannot outlast.
The eyes of history open
and see streaming neon glazes

The cold warriors are dying –
gears that have not turned for long years
shift and let off streams of gold rust…
Things are glowing with potential