There are too many people in the world.
A baseball star hits home runs and breaks records,
then breaks his bat.
He tips his hat and the grand game ends in a tie,
puts on his suit after a shower,
shows the crowds his smile,
then is whisked away into a limo.
The vanguard follows.
They take him to the new Titanic,
and he sits back
and welcomes the chill of the icebergs as the boat leaves the pier.
Into a microphone, he whispers a greater good, for all to hear:
"Look at what I've left behind."
The bar is thronged by people and thrown astray
as they press to hear the press
introduce the sacraments of a newborn Jesus (in a baseball cap)
on television.
Lucifer takes a table with some angels, and before they close the doors,
God damns everything and joins them for fellowship and fries.
I pick up a knocked-over ashtray and muse over the entrails of a cigarette.
A simple doomsday scenario.
4 comments:
Very Rod Serling-esque, so much so I could hear him reading it, most peculiar, most pleasant, most refreshing.
Anyway it's some nice minimalist writing, almost noir, but gets a bit caught up in itself at the end. Then again I guess that's kind of what you were getting at in terms of subject matter anyway, so maybe it's befitting.
Caught up in itself at the end?
What lines, exactly, and how so?
these are great guys. just went through and read them.
go get yourselves published
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