The Day Of Apocalypse

For Gavin

It’s hard to see the future as a land
rising from magma deposits, bright
rivers of lava, pyroclastic clouds,
volcanic vomitus boiling from blue waves.
I must have some sort of blindspot.

I feel my way forward like Gloucester
in King Lear, smelling my way to Dover.
I shower. When I pull a washcloth between
my legs, after my morning dump, things
in Dover can look pretty bad. I hang

the soiled cloth on a steel rail to dry,
then I soap up my hands. I pluck my peach
cleft aside, rinsing off an asterisk—
the Southern star I have so often used
to orient myself at night, sliding

through the sea in search of spices. I
survey my world through a tiny vent,
a window cracked to let the steam escape.
I can see Queens: a tall oak tree, and three
old ladies with Ziplocks full of cooked rice.

The Fates! A Buddhist with a bowl accepts
their offerings with a bow of thanks.
I’m thankful, too—for what I can perceive:
green leaves and gratitude. Tomorrow might
erupt like a volcano, I suppose,

blowing me sky-high. I’ll cope. Maybe
I will land in your arms, if it does.

A Letter to the New York Times

One thing I forgot to mention, and which probably deserves a posting of its own.

I wrote a short letter to the New York Times the other day, protesting how Astrophysicists had drawn up plans for the Earth to be devoured by the sun in 8 billion years. I also included my sonnet on the end of the world called, "The End of the World," for the contemplation of the author of the article. It was his report which inspired me to write my sonnet.

And, do you know what? The reporter, Mr. Dennis Overbye, kindly responded.

I shall reprint our peculiar correspondence in toto.

Dear Mr. Overbye,

The article in Tuesday's (3/11/2008) science section entitled, "Kiss the Earth Goodbye," alarmed me greatly. I have no intention of kissing the Earth goodbye. It is a lovely place to live and I intend to be here for the duration--come Hell or high water.

As a poet, I am not like a lot of the other lunatics who write to The Times. I would like to assure you, and your colleagues, that I intend to take measures--very stern measures--against any and all Apocalypses in both the near and distant future.

Here are a few. Measures. Metaphorically speaking.

Yours sincerely,
Sort of,

Eric


The End of The World

If I were more convinced that God exists,
I’d probably have a quiet word with him:
According to the Astrophysicists,
The future of Manhattan’s looking grim.

A billion years from now, all the science
Suggests our friendly little sun will swell
Into a red, ill-tempered, gaseous giant,
Devouring my apartment—yours as well.

No mention how this will affect our rents:
This is a funny item to conceal.
Let’s find a lawyer: there are instruments
Available for renters to appeal

Excessive rents. There’s no apocalypse
A lengthy bit of litigation can’t eclipse.

And here is Mr. Overbye’s response

Good luck with God and the apocalypse. I myself am not a very good sport about it. And I will only go kicking and screaming onto the spaceship out of here.

Cheers,
Dennis

I have a feeling he didn't read the sonnet, don't you? Oh, well. Nobody really reads poetry anyway.

Still, it is nice to know that whatever political differences one might have with the occasional editorial stance of the Times, we can at least agree about scientific matters: that the end of the world would be a calamity for Republican and Democrat alike.

Contrary to appearances, maybe all is not lost, after all.

The End of the World

I am at home today, in Connecticut, doing laundry, getting ready to haul a few of my things to Queens to move in with Yasu, for the next month, once he finally descends upon New York from Tokyo, before he moves to Houston to take up his position as a curator.

I was listening to WQXR this morning (the radio station of The New York Times) and I heard a rather solemn report on the fate of the Earth several billion years hence. It seems we are going to be greedily gobbled up by an engorged sun, once it has converted all of its hydrogen fuel to helium. Evidently the whole Earthly affair is going to end with a burp, not a bang, or a whimper. I always figured this was going to happen, but I just didn't know it would happen so soon.

So, I am off to take a hot shower, to meet my end cleanly and comfortably. And in case Yasu calls from the airport, and I have to hop on the train and head out to meet him for Indian food and a quick cuddle before the end of the world.

It is best to be prepared for these things, don't you think?