Two women walked their dogs
past the house this morning.
Had they looked my way, they
wouldn’t have seen what was actually going on.
They’d have only seen appearances, someone
sitting in front of a large window with mouth slightly open
wearing a stupid, pinched, far-away look,
staring over their heads at tall, green trees
and the brilliant blue of a morning sky
after cleansing, sweet rain.
He was really just a scout, a rambler,
teleported 500 generations in the future,
staring into a potential abyss
imagining what a particular morning in
ten millennia might look like,
where there were no women, or dogs, or trees,
or blue skies…or sweet rain,
or bird calls,
because something vast and terrible
had passed over the face of the world
like the avenging angels swept over
Pharaoh’s first-born sons,
but infinitely worse,
cutting down all but one of
every hundred, then
all but one of every hundred
All but a few small creatures
who took refuge in deep sea caverns
were no more.
If the dog walkers had looked, they’d have seen someone
with a somewhat stupid, pinched, far-away look,
like a stroke victim, paralyzed, sad,
under a brilliant blue morning sky,
shuffling in ashes of a possible future,
and wondering, as the Earth slowly healed, again,
what would her genius create this time.
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