Y2K
Residents of Earth, we regret to inform you
that God will not be keeping his appointment tonight.
It seems the prophets took down the date wrong;
too much static in their visions, we suppose.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
have traded in their steeds for fully-loaded Toyotas,
and the birds couldn't be severed from the sky
because no one could find them in all the smog.
So the only voice from the clouds you'll be hearing
is the bandleader on surround-sound
as the ragged fingers of tired musicians
strike up "Auld Lang Syne" for the twentieth time.
And the only hands reaching down to delliver you
are those of young programmers fixing the bug
just in time to consummate a decade of faith
in the miracles of Microsoft.
All the true believers will be off eating Spam
in their fortified underground nuclear shelters
while your Supreme Being updates his agenda,
and a terminal world
awaits the healing touch of the irreverent.
(c)Copyright 1999 by Elizabeth Hebert
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