Post missile launch poem

This poem got lost in the shuffle, only emerging after posting my little piece of micro-fiction in slight reaction to the so-called 12-Day War here:

Microfiction - Missile Launch

Anyway, here is the poem. It remains untitled.

Who gets to write the poetry, 
that is, the first-hand account,
for what it's worth, describing 
the next nuclear holocaust?

I studied the ethical and strategic
dimensions of the last one at Army
War College. I confess it was neither 
poetic nor convincing and perhaps 

the world would be much better off 
if soldiers and diplomats studied 
peace more and war a whole lot less. 
But back to the questions at hand.

How long does it take, post-delivery,
for the ashes, debris, and remains 
to cool enough for the victor 
to march in and measure it all,

to assess the damage accurately?
for the searing heat to dissipate, 
for the bright flash of light
to soften to a gentle glow?