This is a week called Doom.
The end is moving backwards
towards the beginning, an explosion
in reverse. Something Bad
is going to happen.
Your horoscope is ambivalent
as a pulled punch. The forecast
reads like Revelations;
there is a cloud the color of steel
above you ready to rain down anvils.
Lottery tickets are more worthless
than normal; no one wins.
All bets are off.
Give up. Stay home. Pull the covers up
to your chin and abandon all hope.
Prayer is always an option,
but you know it won’t work.
In the beginning, there was
an explosion, a big bang,
fireworks like the Fourth of July.
In the end, everyone leaves the party
early, already hungover.