On the Evening of the Rapture
(predicted for September 11, 1988)
 
The hour is come; to bed
we go who shall not arise,
not tonight at any rate--
with the fundamentalized.
There's no good news for the dead
and the Judgment Day is late.
The hour is come, again;
and days dissimilar
in their penultimate hour
all reach toward a common end:
the holy solar power
bows its head to earth.
In the morning we will wake
and from our single beds arise
like Lazarus disinterred--
wiping the sleep from our eyes
we'll give our souls a shake
and walk into a world ablur.
So pardon now if we pray
to our dear dead Father
out of the old neurosis:
let Christ keep his holiday,
tell the Spirit not to bother--
until we can like cousins kiss.

 

 

copyright 2001 Phoebe Claire Publishing, LLC  All rights reserved