“A hot summer, a warm winter, is no evidence for global warming…And even if it is true, you get, on the one hand, perhaps less skiing; on the other hand, you get more sunshine and maybe better beach weather.” –Dr. S. Fred Singer, Global Warming Skeptic
First it was the pelicans, then airplanes.
Gray underbellies spiraled from a cobalt sky.
Then parts of sky fell, veined and wet.
On the horizon, tornadoes funneled into orange
columns, ripping the earth from sky.
A bus rumbled by empty-Its destination:
Nowhere in Particular. A woman dodged
the falling things, I clutched onto her,
called, There is no friend like a sister,
in calm or stormy weather.
She shook me off of her, told me,
You ain’t my sister, sister. Besides,
The Brain is wider than the Sky.
The crowds ran from the fall
like Dante’s sodomites avoiding fire.
They gathered in a wooden barn,
the weather vane on top desperate to follow
the wind. The mercury in the wall thermometer
bubbled silver against the glass. I wanted in,
but a man told me between the wooden slats
of the barn, Beauty is truth, truth beauty-
that is all YOU need to know.
There’s no room for you besides.
I hurried past, found an old saloon,
escaped from the hot wind outside. The bartender
shouted: NO WOMEN ALLOWED. I ran past him
and the stale stench of beer and urine,
splashed through puddles on the plywood floor.
The bartender called, Water, water
everywhere. A shiny-faced patron slammed
his tumbler onto the bar, shattered
the glass into tiny prisms, shouted,
And nor a drop to drink! I found
the creaky stairs, finally found the cement
basement, cool and gray, dank and dark.
A young girl waited for me there. I, she said,
have been waiting my life. She sat slumped
in a wheelchair, the legs useless, unfolding
from the hull of her hips. I told her,
The world, you know, it’s ending.
She answered. No, it ended long ago.
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