Dispatch From Fukushima Daiichi

Have opened a door
to where the boiling of sea water
is continuous.  Can see on the brims of pots
the dead grime of left-behind.
May tempt myself for a second
with the thought of scraping off a little
to sample, though I know
there’s a strong chance of poisoning
if I do this.  Will instead breathe deeply
the sharp atmosphere, all the while pondering
the people who are responsible for this
dangerous kitchen.  Have been seeking
their faces and names and finding nothing.
Am not sure how safe it is
to continue the search.  Will instead
hold my breath, run home, shower,
praying that no glow or iodized tang
has lodged itself fatally into my body
where it will work itself into a froth
at some later, half-expected time.