Ms. Apocalypse

(remain calm; what's the worst that could happen?)


Ms. Apocalypse

the world died on a Monday evening

you were drying laundry on the line

AM radio going berserk

why would you notice, smoothing out creases

the power went out at 4:20 p.m.

porch birds picked at toast crumbs

while nuclear submarines set the coast on fire

you found matches, lit the stove, boiled a pot of tea

flesh-eating zombies knocked at your front door

“sorry,” you said, “I don’t have any cash”

they banged their feet, insisted on brains

how very crude—“how bout muffins instead?”

tanks rolled through your living room

you took the car out for a spin

guerrillas had blown up all of the bridges

so you pulled to the shoulder, popped in some jazz

“I’ll be there soon,” Ms. Apocalypse told me

whisper from a payphone, turn the Mustang around

the world had ended; I was hysterical

“Tonight,” she said, “I’m coming for dinner.”

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