what if it had been somebody else
calling you this time instead of me,
a tin foil roasting geezer, maybe, or an aging auntie
who misdialed when she tried to call dial-a-prayer
looking for hope for the future, but instead
she got your message of impending doom?
what if auntie, giving up hope, unravelled her latest
knitting project, made herself a noose from
the joyfully coloured yarn, and put godspeed
into the natural process by which we all
return to the earth, leaving her frou frou dog
to fend for herself in a world filled with venomous snakes
and inexplicably angry squirrels?
what if it was all your fault? how could you live
with yourself, having so rashly answered the phone
with the startling news of an impending Armageddon?