Palliative Uncaring

So, I guess it is my lot

to console

the widow of the world.

The once admired bride of lauded human achievement.

It was hubris,

for us to think we were the world;

for the world was here

long ago, when we were not.

But now,

the old Sawbones

has declared him dying.

Nothing we can do now,

but wait for him to expire

and comfort his grieving widow.

The one that everyone thought

was so beautiful,

but after time

no one really likes anymore.


It  somehow falls to me;

the job of rendering

all the hollow platitudes

I can muster

and transforming my body

into endless shoulders

to cry on,

to lean on,

but I really stopped caring

so long ago.


The nurse comes in,

she cares less than I do.

Says she has seen

cases like this

draw on for a few

hundred million years.

The world has been long in dying

and perhaps we might prefer

to go home

and someone will call us

if there are any changes.


My charge makes no move for the door,

but instead,

buries her insufferable head

into the crook of my fourth shoulder

and makes blubbering and sucking sobs

that we all know aren’t genuine,

and the old world just stays

as it is,

as it was

and as it will be.



we don’t have much,

he and I.

We’ve been here before

and we’ve bet against fate

and won and lost

a few thousand times

over the millennia.


I hold the not-yet-widow close,

while I look out the window

and see nothing

that would tell me that the world is dying.

Perhaps this is a simulated picture

and I have been deceived?

I don’t have it in me

to care anymore, anyway.


So, we’re standing here,

waiting for the world to end

and there isn’t a truly sad

person in attendance.

Not with a bang,


not even a whimper.


HG – 2016

Leave a Reply