A Poem by John Challis

Secret Nuclear Bunker

Eighty feet below the surface,
at the bunker at Kelvedon Hatch,
the tour-guide wheels open
a blast door as thick as a man.

In the soundless plotting room,
I almost hear the bleeps of sonar
tracking routes to impact,
northern cities reporting on their losses

and the new leaders mounting
the rehearsed offensive.
With every rumble overhead,
lamps shake their skirts of dust,

bulkheads moan whale song,
jets of mist punch from pipes,
and the world begins to tilt.
A suited man made out of plastic,

our field of vision shaky now,
is settled behind the microphone
to orate us out of history.
He doesn’t even flinch.

John Challis lives and works in York. His first collection, The Resurrectionists, was published in 2021, and a second, The Green Parcel, is out now from Bloodaxe. His work has appeared in Poetry London, Poetry Ireland Review, The Poetry Review, and elsewhere.