So yeah we’ve survived another end-
of-the-world prediction, the rapture

forestalled, the mother of all apocalypse
scenarios indefinitely postponed. Remember

that Y2K scare eighteen years go? Even so,
no fortress of SPAM could protect us, not

from the force of earthquakes shearing
away at the struts that hold up the roof

of the world; nor underground shelters keep
out toxic fallout or monster floods. How

can I even take pride in the kitchen I’ve made
tidy after last night’s dinner messes, the strip

of grout and the bathroom tiles I’ve made clean
again with bleach? From the window I can see

the river’s edge, past which it rises when the tide
is high; when it lowers, the mud flats that emerge,

clotted with refuse; and the whitethroated, long-
legged birds stepping gingerly through them.


In response to Via Negativa: O tempora, o mores.

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