Year - 2662 – Day - Tuesday

There’s a hole in my backyard
where the asteroid crashed last Tuesday.

I should fill it with some nice chrysanthemums,
or perhaps a wading pool complete with orange fish
and golden rocks.

We could bathe there like the Romans did,
I could drop the soap.

Year - 2662 – Day - Friday

A sunspot eclipses my eye today,
I can’t quite scrape it clean.
I’ve been looking at those Galilean moons too much.

You’re gone. Left for another galaxy.

Year - 2662 – Day - Sunday

We’re young.
Our lives pass through us at the speed of light,
transforming flesh to ghosts hunting in the night.

And I’m only a filament in your eye, like a billion others
who traveled the Milky Way to reach you - turned to ice.
While you – a fireball in mine, never melting.

Here, take my arm, my leg, take any limb.
Devour it, savor it, preserve it in smelly oil.
Save something from me -
eyes, knees, lunar mouth, heart
I won’t need them anymore.

Year - 2662 – Day - Tuesday, the Day the World Ends

The end is here.

I wonder if we’ll be like the dinosaurs,
our fossils burning holes in the sand
the impression they make endless. 


First published at Lily Lit Review, December 2005