by Sarah P. Blanchard
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
— T.S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”
Squirrel spotting
A sincere apology for nothing
for doing nothing
for becoming the nothing we have become.
A heartfelt apology in advance
for whatever comes next.
squirrel
Warnings? Of course we had those.
We had our cameras out, recording everything:
grievances, outrages, lies, and the
infinite variations of a canary’s death. We
added our comments to all the
shrill unpleasant alarms
squirrel
raised by popular prophets nodding somberly
at those shrill cries of doom. But too many alarms
were smothered beneath clever ridicule
squirrel
about painted clowns and bitcoin plunges.
Yes we raised shields. But only a few
too late, too slowly, and only after
reading the manual twice. Always
mistaking shields for weapons
squirrel
we searched instead for the familiar
smiling faces of traitors who counseled
easy appeasements, comfortable conciliations
squirrel
while murderers performed overtime.
We were warned about the sky falling
squirrel
but we’re good now. We’ve got our cameras ready.
Sarah P. Blanchard is the author of the novel Drawn from Life, the story collection Playing Chess with Bulls, and a poetry chapbook titled river, horse, morning. A former instructor of English and writing at the University of Hawai'i-Hilo and the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the University of North Carolina-Asheville, she writes now from her home in northeastern Connecticut.
