The Day the World Ended
a dry dawn.
Of course, no one was
would be the last. There were only
a few signs: rivers clogged with bones
of children and birds, chairs, tires,
broken window frames;
roads and bridges had
buckled under the weight of
people trying to escape.
There were no trees left
the sky appeared to have a hole in it,
a huge sore through which black rain
oozed like pus.
Many of us
were sure there was still
time. The experts
insisted, for instance, that the air
was becoming less visible, the way
it once had been before the climate warmed.
Oceans were beginning to stink again.
This was a very good sign,
it meant that life was
View, 3_1 (Fall 1998)