30° in the shade and we brave it,
this second-to-last summer, the former-
family of us, foursquare as a quadrat –
Father, Mother, Daughter, Son –
foursquare as a Roman atrium.
The Protect & Survive government
pamphlet – printed but never sent –
rings the featureless nuclear family
on the front in a thick white circle.
How not to vanish. How not to
effervesce. The runway, an immensity
of permissible trespass, is performing
its own apotheosis as Berliners
hardier than us pound round its lots.
Building a shelter is not difficult.
Start looking now for materials
for your Inner Refuge. Our rented
red plastic quadracycle simmers
on the tarmac as we pose
for photographs by the perimeter
fence, my hair a sort of levitating
fretwork, my two hands crammed
with my children’s hands.
We are all smiling
as bits of the terminal canopy
collapse behind us. Here
are some ideas. Make a lean-to
with sloping doors. Add further
protection with bags or boxes of sand
or earth or books or even clothing.
Anchor these against slipping. Bitumen
into steam: hard to tell if the heat-
shimmer on the horizon is just smoke
from the barbecue pit or the crux
of this instant evaporating
faster than I can guess. Remember.
Even the safest room in your house
is not safe enough. Balloons
drift up, untethered. Birds.