by Eric Rozenman (December 2015)
At the end of the cul-de-sac
At the end of the world as we know it
On a sleepy Sunday morning
In the tree-line along the driveway
Deer survive somehow, squeezed between two subdivisions
Beyond which the world’s in flames.
Refugees run for it
By the millions and holy men
Build bombs, nuclear bombs when they can
Suicide vests if not to impose
Their scripture upon the corrupt of the earth
That is to say on us,
Infidels who beg to differ
Beg is all they allow and then but briefly
Their swords are not sharp
Better to make their point
At the end of the world
As we know it
Aroma of percolating coffee
On a sleepy Sunday morning
Reaffirms that all is quiet
For now, the kids in grad school
The mortgage nearly paid
Just in time for the end of the world
As we know it, the previews of which
Run in newspaper headlines and television news breaks
While an international orchestra
Plays soundless notes for its deaf conductor;
Why doesn’t the audience scream?
Instead it sips champagne at intermission
Of this opening and closing performance of
The end of the world as we know it.
_________________________
The writer is a Washington, D.C.-based news media analyst. Any opinions expressed above are solely his own.
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