Ever curious,
eyes fixed,
she points
to a screen,
asks why a comet
hit the earth,
is it the end?
I ponder
the end:
crazy men
in sandwich boards
scream
"The end is near!"
Bolshevik luminaries
shame us, earth killers,
brainwashed cults
pack for a ride
home,
talking heads search
prophecies for truth,
the devout flock
before chancels
ask for mercy
pray to saints.
Signs
do not say
it is time.
I strain
to see her comet--
the path
the arc
the smoke
they tell me
these are shooting stars,
heroes.
© 2003 Jason C. Jones