apocalypse

 

Her apocalypse 

is now

Diagnosis death

She the proverbial

ostrich 

buries her head

in normal

Laundry to be done

or no clean clothes

anywhere,

Bills to pay

too many

Respite planning

Off to the beach

to dig her toes in

the sand

or mud

depending on the

tide

A glass of wine,

the moon,

starlight,

ocean

Living out all the

old cliches

Her new

normal

Ellecee

Inspiration from

Good Universe Next Door

8. Whatcha gonna do about it?
Probably nothing, even if “it” is the

 literal end of the world. Guilty as 

charged, and anyway… how much 

is in our control? Still, we ought to 

do something, so just for today let’s 

write a poem about fiddling while Rome

 burns, rearranging chairs on the Titanic,

 etc., etc. /