[Mark McDonnell]

Friends Reunite In Time For The Apocalypse

I met them after many years
and soon the evening's many beers
had brought back something of the old
delightful, dirty folderol.
And some would laugh and seem to revel
in the game of luck, the devil's
own they had. And some would think
and feel beneath the tattoo's ink,
remember when we weren't so cowed
by history's cosh, back when the crowd
seemed thrillingly directionless.
Not like now. Now the mess
we've made together in this game
sweeps us all along the same
dark path as all the other fools
we've known and met in jobs and schools,
all heading to the boneyard singing --
tying knots in ropes for swinging.
Faith is gone and rightly too:
we knelt for nothing on the pew
and those whose faith is strongest now
will kill you for their sacred vow.
Now horsemen three ride into view
awaiting one long overdue.
Still, let's be grateful; such a laugh
we've had along the primrose path.
Such biting wit at their expense:
Putin, Nigel, Trump (and Pence?)
Such jokes and tweets and comic memes
(such innocence of bygone dreams.)
We never thought the end of days
would be such fun! So let us praise
the gaudy con man 'cross the shore;
his friend our gurning, blazered bore;
the shirtless bullet-head riding tall;
these fuckers just might kill us all.
But after all it could be worse:
my evening taxi ride -- a hearse.