In your lifetime you will see
on the horizon
a dark rolling cloud
of desolation
you somehow know
will be rolling over you.
Thoughts of
hunkering down
digging in
riding it out
left you long ago.
Left you when
the rains stopped . . .
and the only water
that remains holy
is a dot of ice on Mars
that unreachable font
still a sign of the cross
you bear screaming
you knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
in your lifetime.
You will hear from the horizon the shuffling shoeless
of the last great migration
700 million refugees
in desperation
you somehow know
will be trudging over you.
Thoughts of
a safe place
a bomb shelter
a panic room
left you long ago.
Left you when
lightning struck . . .
and the only ground
that remains holy is the muck from which
we crawled out of the sea
now covered in ashes too hot
for you to flee
you knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
in your lifetime.
You will smell in the horizon
the decay of a most noble species
you somehow know
is decomposing you
Thoughts of
a miracle cure
genetic modification
a saving mutation
left you long ago.
Left you when
the darkness came . . .
and the only air
that remains holy
is in the flame of a
burning bush
that speaks as
if to Moses
there is no substitute
there is no ark from Noah
there is no belly of the whale
disgorging Jonah
forest-cut
carbon-glow
ice-cap-melt
ozone-hole
poisons-deployed
ecosystems-destroyed.
You’ve uttered your
climate-change denial
that has now turned genocidal
You knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
In your lifetime.
on the horizon
a dark rolling cloud
of desolation
you somehow know
will be rolling over you.
Thoughts of
hunkering down
digging in
riding it out
left you long ago.
Left you when
the rains stopped . . .
and the only water
that remains holy
is a dot of ice on Mars
that unreachable font
still a sign of the cross
you bear screaming
you knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
in your lifetime.
You will hear from the horizon the shuffling shoeless
of the last great migration
700 million refugees
in desperation
you somehow know
will be trudging over you.
Thoughts of
a safe place
a bomb shelter
a panic room
left you long ago.
Left you when
lightning struck . . .
and the only ground
that remains holy is the muck from which
we crawled out of the sea
now covered in ashes too hot
for you to flee
you knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
in your lifetime.
You will smell in the horizon
the decay of a most noble species
you somehow know
is decomposing you
Thoughts of
a miracle cure
genetic modification
a saving mutation
left you long ago.
Left you when
the darkness came . . .
and the only air
that remains holy
is in the flame of a
burning bush
that speaks as
if to Moses
there is no substitute
there is no ark from Noah
there is no belly of the whale
disgorging Jonah
forest-cut
carbon-glow
ice-cap-melt
ozone-hole
poisons-deployed
ecosystems-destroyed.
You’ve uttered your
climate-change denial
that has now turned genocidal
You knew this day
was coming
you knew this day
was coming
In your lifetime.
Often referred to as “the old white guy,” Stan Spencer is a frequent participant in the WordXWord Festival in Pittsfield, MA, where he was the 2018 story-telling champ and winner of the festival’s Head-to-Head Haiku competition, going home with a dollar for each of his 27 haikus and a donut cake. He performs his spoken word in such places as Dottie’s Café, the Berkshire Museum, The Mount, and on the streets. Stan lives in Lenox, MA with his wife Jan, who is his editor, censor, and interpretive coach. She does not take criticism of his work lightly.