PORCH TALK ON THE APOCALYPSE

PORCH TALK ON THE APOCALYPSE 

Sun through a skim of clouds. A nuthatch and a downy woodpecker trade anxious, nasal notes between the faint shadows of the trees. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch

N:      Think this winter will be our last? Mayan 2012, remember?
DW:  Nah, might just be a peep at the God Particle by a savant.
N:      What’s with the peppy, sunshiny, head-in-the-clouds cant?
DW:  Been pecking on wood all my life! What’s with the dander?

N:      Not enough nuts or weevils as it is. Why end it all? It’s futile.
DW:  Boredom. Renewal. Occupy. He’s hinted these for a while.
N:      Occupy. Uh-oh. Come back to reclaim this neck of the woods?
DW:  Final Coming. Like Advent. Last trip, like. He’s tired. Pissed.
N:      Like driving scruffy tenants out for punching holes on walls?
DW:  More like ozone layer holes. Global warming, oil spills, Nuts.
N:      They’re already murdering each other. Wars, famine, Woods.
DW:  He’s got to have the last say. He wants them to say: We repent!
N:      What’s the point? Couldn’t he consider his love well spent?
DW:  Don’t know about you. I would like to bore a few more holes. 

—Albert B. Casuga