Mayan Calendar Girl

If the world ends today,
as the Mayans said it would,
I'll wish I didn't pass on dessert last night.
As the meteor nears
(or whatever catastrophic event
could send us all to kingdom come) I'll wish
that I had held you closer, listened better,
spoken more deeply, more often
about all that's on my heart and mind. Better yet,
a billboard, alerting everyone (as if they care). When dust settles (assuming that it does)  -
and mind you, I'm not hoping that it happens -
let's promise to meet a week from today, okay?
The distance shouldn't be too great, what
with parts of Florida falling into the sea. Transportation
might be tricky if zombies block our paths, resurrected
Mayans here to say "I told you so" and rub it in or eat
our faces off. I think we'll manage. If, instead of that,
the Baptists were right about the Rapture but had the timing off,
I hope we find each other in the clouds - I'll be wearing
an argyle sweater and jeans, the light of heaven reflected off
the many rings I've worn for the occasion. Still, let's
make a pact to meet, catch up, share our notes as we
rise past Venus on this new wrinkle in the fabric
of the time/space continuum. I have no doubt
we'll both survive. It's what we do.
But just in case it's yet another prediction, prophecy,
supposedly divine message that has no merit,
what're you doing tomorrow? Let's have lunch.
And definitely dessert.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012