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.