Bunk

I stare at the bunk above me.
She is asleep there;
Her breathing has finally slowed.
Our first night down here
in the shelter and all the
systems are working O.K.
Air, water, food and books are still available
but I wonder if civilization is over.
Is this shelter all that’s left?
In the end, was Henry Ford right?
Is the end of history above me?
Is history bunk?

—a man
  Ohio Valley
  North America