• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 07
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When the end times come,
you will be lucky to get forewarned.
Those four horsemen mean business
when they show up. They intend
to make you an example to smarter species
for what you have done to this planet.
If they need to get the message across,
they can’t do it with sweet nothings.
Not for them ambiguous English, intimate French,
or the ebullience of Italian and Spanish.

I suspect that their language of choice,
capable of conveying the gravitas
of such imminent catastrophe, will be German.
With its guttural sounds and clipped consonants,
it always sounds like it means business.
Everything sounds like an order
to be obeyed immediately, SCHNELL!
And who better to welcome you
than a baleful, beady-eyed reptile
that has called Earth home for many millennia?

You get sent to a compost facility
to rid you of your oxygen addiction.
Will you be flash-combusted and vaporized
through that exhaust pipe, or allowed to
decay, wrapped in that vibrantly blue tarpaulin?



Will you get pitchforked into that crate
with sodden leaves and kitchen scraps
from the restaurant down the street
so that bacteria can help you fulfill your
circular destiny, from dust to dust?

That ancient lizard with unblinking eyes
and imperturbable mien offers no solace.
The signpost doesn’t really provide you
any useful exit or exist options.
Your contributions might last as long
as the raggedy pennants on that bunting.
You realize that worn tire will outlast
you by a century, at least. Well done!
It’s the perfect annular epitaph for
the planet you have totally vandalized.