Sportscasters of the Apocalypse

Pressures of an authoritative notion
decry their own forces
to delay the impossibly inevitable.
It is with shrinking solicitude
that mothers-may-I irradiate
the simple beings they aim to protect.

Hail and farewell, found disinterestedness,
lying unabated on the ash heap;
Pray, tell me, when did we last meet and
how have the ages treated you?
These days can’t be such a nightmare as we’re told,
or none of us would be left standing.

Engage the race, for it is much more
then just the finish line,
engage it with clarity rendered along the way,
devoted and desired.
And so we close our missals,
shots in the dark to a deadening sky,
but before we fade let us take heed –
meeting the you in you is the last thing
you’d ever want to do.

–August 9, 2024

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