Poetry Month Stops to Look at Rain on a Window and Realizes the Month Is Over

rain on a windowNational Poetry Month will be over in a few days. How much did you write? Did you write a poem about the person who you love with a passion oh so true, but they just don’t love you? Or maybe you wrote some small lyrical piece about three birds on a wire at sunset. Poetry can just be about anything, can’t it? About Napoleon’s exile, or your daughter learning the flute, or the faithfulness of an old dog on an autumn afternoon.

I wrote a poem about the end of time.

Here at the End of Time

Here at the end of time,
there have been some changes.
The days that are left have swelled up, for instance,
like balloons.
Now each one lasts a week,
and it takes seven hours to eat breakfast.
This means drinking a lot more coffee.

Here at the end of time,
gravity has also become irregular,
and things keep floating away.
My hairbrush is gone,
so I look like I just woke up,
and the sky is full of lawn furniture.

Here at the end of time,
strangely enough,
there’s more time to think about things,
as most things don’t need doing.
There’s not much point in canning the summer tomatoes.
No need to study for the history test.
Now we can sit here and dwell on our past iniquities,
or think about the fact that we had better hurry up and commit new sins,
if we still have a few in mind.

Here at the end of time,
several days ago
every religion came true,
and then they ended.
So all that fighting was for nothing.
Now there’s no religion,
but we don’t have time to worry about whether that’s going to make a difference.

Here at the end of time,
I’m surprised it even came.
I always read that time went on forever.
So much for that idea.
Maybe I was reading the wrong books.
It wouldn’t be the first time.

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