Apocalypse Jukebox
The
doorbell rang,
and I went to answer it
with the
knife I’d been using
still in my hand.
A couple
in their twenties,
immediately identifiable
from
their clean-cut good looks
as Jehovah Witnesses,
smiled at
me
through the screen door.
Hello, he
said.
Yeah, hello, I said.
He waved
a leaflet
in my direction.
There’s
going to be
a meeting, he said,
about how
to survive
the end of the world.
She never
said anything.
Over her shoulder,
I could
see a country road,
a tree, evening.
Who wants
to? I said.
