Dismantling the Bomb

It would be ludicrous to bomb an atomic bomb.
The day someone swings a wrecking ball at that baby
is the day we all die. There is no easy end to an atomic bomb,
just a slow and steady commitment to the small victories
found in divesting a lethal and awe inspiring weapon
of its never ending destructive capabilities.

Today it is the brass chimney sleeves, just the brass chimney sleeves.
With deft and single minded hands I will peel off the clinging fabric
of those once exalted sleeves. Tomorrow it's the two piece tamper plug
and the cork lining, but today I will strip those sleeves with
indifferent skill, never minding the vulnerability of the exposed parts.

Next it will be the aluminum cups. Like a dentist
with a rebellious tooth, I will clean the rust from each bolt.
Nothing will stop me from twisting it clean from its protective
suctioning embrace until at last, I am confronted by the plutonium.

From this close, it is simply a silvery white rock, like one of the
many indiscriminate pieces of gravel that we once collected
but are now content to let leave our pockets, shoes and skin.

And so it is that we dismantle grief- piece
by piece- refusing to be deterred by the whole, until the
core is no longer an insurmountable thing.