JUDGEMENT DAY
 

ON JUDGEMENT DAY, the Wind will blow from the East.

Mourners will moan their songs of sorrow.

Oily foam will fly from our blighted beaches.

Jim is at the anchor desk; Maria is at home; alone.

 

On Judgement Day, St. Andreas will shrug; buildings will fall.

Pat Evangelist will SCREAM as he runs to hide.

We will have too few candles to light our way.

Jim's news show is unable to broadcast.

 

On Judgement Day, the sun will hide behind jagged grey nimbi.

Cars will be squelched, swatted down like cockroaches.

Our streets will whistle a shrill and tortuous song.

Maria puts on her silk neglige, sits and reads her Bible.

 

On Judgement Day, the silos will be buried by the earthen bombard.

Smokers will lie in bed with antibiotics to cure their bronchitis.

We will all try to hide from the howling winds; except for Jim

who drives through flying debris which shatters his windshield.

 

On Judgement Day, the four elements will ravage the human race.

The economists and the lunatics will both cry, and cry together.

The winds will intone the voices of Jesus and Buddha, Moses and Muhammad.

Maria snuffs out her candle and stares outside.

 

On Judgement Day, the world will slide into the abyss.

The telephone will ring again, but still no one will be on the line.

And the winds will be called the "Breath of God."

Maria and Jim unite in a passionate embrace.

They exchange their fears and their gratitude for one another.

And their house collapses upon them with a resounding kissss.

 

                          

 (c) 1987, 1990 Mark Morris