Last night, we went to watch
the end of the world.It was a nine o’clock screening.
I got us front row seats; they were expensive,
But it was worth it,
To see the end of the world,
I think.

Wasn’t it?

We went out for dinner.
I imagine prisoners and their last meals,
Drawn-out, disconsolate, silently desperate,
Savouring the last of their moments on Earth,
Savouring
the end of the world.But this was quick, dispassionate,
Much like the life we had been living:
If love was on our schedule, then love was what we did,
Just another word enclosed within a black and white grid,
(Unless it exceeded 30 minutes,
In which case we both had better things to do with our time.)

Why?
I don’t understand.
And this time we aren’t discussing some hypothetical scenario.

Anyway,
We had a show to catch.
We couldn’t be late for
the end of the world.So we ate in silence, watched in silence,
Pushed our meals around our plates in silence,
From our bubble of black and white amidst a vivid palette of colour,
Where the food was bland and smelled like nothing.

We had an hour left till
the end of the world.

I arrived at the scene,
Pulling my jacket closer around me,

So it’d feel more like a hug,
And the warmth that they gave me,
And the peace, and the security,
But now what have you left me?

The theatre was empty,
But I was accustomed to being lonely.
After all, that’s what life’s like at
the end of the world.Ahead of me was the void,
Where my nightmares infinite reside.
I waved, shyly, and they waved back.
I wanted to leave, to run screaming,
The lump in my throat impeded my breathing,
But I had tickets for the end of the world,
And, as you well know,
I just want to find out why.Besides,
They were very expensive.

So, I stayed.
To watch my terrors unfurl before me.
And like the last five thousand times,
I died a little bit inside.

Last night, we went to watch
the end of the world.This time, it was held at the zoo.

We pulled our jackets in tightly,
Leaves swaying above and crunching below.
It was a cold night, and windy.
We squeezed closer together, and shivered.
I couldn’t help but notice,
That the people we passed felt warmer.

The zoo was closed.
But the gates opened, anyway,
As they always exclusively did for us.
I knew the way to the show by heart by now;
Hand in hand we walked, fingers clasped loosely.

I wish I had held yours more tightly,
But what do I know?

So together we walked to
the end of the world.

It was a sheep pen in a corner of the zoo.
Fingers still intertwined, we counted the sheep,
As the fat tufts of white hopped over their fence.
Over time, your hand fell away from mine.

I never really liked the zoo,
It just reminded me too much of you.
But all that mattered was that you did.
I was tired of counting sheep,
Tired of trying to fall asleep.
Tired of watching
the end of the world.Tired of
Tired of

I can’t let go.
If I let go, I fall.
I don’t want to fall into
the end of the world.Not before you tell me why.

But I was
So tired of
Counting sheep
So

Time is an asshole.
You can’t win a race against time.
The most you can do is win the tiny, petty victories,
And even then he comes sprinting right back at you, grinning like a bitch.

Elephants are assholes too.
There’s a big one in the room right now, and it’s our past.
You can scream and cry and stress and try as hard as you like to move an elephant,
But it’ll make a mess on your floor regardless.
Tell yourself the wounds heal; ignore the scars; glue back the pieces—
But there’s your past in the rear view mirror, coming in fast,
And he’s grinning like a bitch.

I bought more tickets.
It’s a midnight screening, and the tickets were expensive.
But I haven’t found out why,
And I’m not stopping until you tell me.

I best get going,
It’s almost time.
Now if you’ll excuse me,
It’s
the end of the world.

Afterword

December 18, 2021

I don’t like this very much. This was college homework, edited primarily to circumvent the now-irrelevant assignment guidelines (and dial back the edge). I’m no poet, so rely heavily on how I’m feeling to come up with material, and the feelings I felt at the time have faded as my life has changed, making rewriting especially difficult.

The other problem is that I had two strong potential endings—the last two segments—I was unwilling to significantly change but wanted to shoehorn in. They’re ordered as they are at the risk of interrupting the moody tone with what might be interpreted as an abruptly lighter section, but I still prefer it to the alternative arrangements.

I’ve published this anyway despite my dissatisfaction with it as sort of a historical artifact, a record of the past. And perhaps this piece will resonate more deeply with those who can see the beauty in it. That is the virtue of art, after all.