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.