End Times
Quincy R. Lehr

You never asked to walk upon the water,
never claimed it, never went to church,
while those with messianic claims made do
with family yachts, the way it's always done.

No one slouched to Bethlehem. No beast
was born. It was concocted in a lab
and molded into shape by focus groups
who like their evil slightly more dressed-down.

From prototype to archetype, the myth
went through its iterations. First a chant,
it turned into a liturgy, then changed
into a biker rally aimed at teens.

No Armageddon—quite; more a collage
of video footage spread across the globe,
interspersed with ads, responsible
demands for extra troops to "get things done."

When we noticed, it was like a tax
due a few months off; unopened bills;
a forecast of a heat wave; promises
of moderation from the offices

that thought up this—either euphemistic
or to the tune of Baby Boomer rock,
with claims of greatness, demands for increments,
even though we haven't got much time.