Last scene of all

All the world’s a stage, he knew.

Was he thinking of the heavy ice sheet curtains,

Drawn back into the polar wings, waiting for their cue,

Waiting for 9 billion Earthlings

To applaud the oil-fueled light show they made

That could be seen far off in space as a sudden spark

Across the side of Earth’s revolving face

That has, till now, been dark?

 

Those actors, men and women, merely players,

With their exits and entrances until the last scene of all

That ends this strange eventful history, when,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything,

Those curtains will close on them after the last claps

With a billow and a swish, then the clatter of glacial collapse.

books

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