The acolytes surround the screen,
Their quills and paper grasped in hands.
I switch the slide from blank to scene.
An architect had drawn a land
Of buildings, known to us as scrap.
The people seemed to be carefree.
The benches, free, on streets to nap
When one got tired; and even trees
That bore no fruit had lined the street
Of pavement—liquid turned to stone.
And all to frame their greatest feat:
A tower home, a lofty throne.
No artist now could match the skill
Of one who drafted masterworks
We studied—moving once, now still.
And only through the lonely quirks
Of genius can we even keep
The slides from losing magic light.
And knowledge disappears to creep
With parents, leaving us with fright.
“The nation’s ability to identify the source of a nuclear weapon used in a terrorist attack is fragile and eroding, according to a report released Thursday by the National Research Council... In addition, the panel cited a lack of skilled personnel, the use of outdated instruments and the existence of old facilities in need of upgrading. For general support, the forensics work depends on the nation’s program for maintaining its nuclear arsenal, the report noted, adding, however, that its “funds are declining.””
– William J. Broad, The New York Times, July 29, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/30/us/30nuke.html?src=me
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