by
Catherine
McGuire
On the screen, it's always
car chases, bombs - drive-thru destruction.
Apocalypse has theme music now.
Hours of snip and paste, sound track sync'd,
tailored catastrophe, neat romance.
As we step out into air (fugue of broiling sun
or blue-white streetlamps, radiant), we ease back
into our lives (only slow by comparison)
turn IPODs to something spritely,
leave collapse behind us.
Meanwhile, data builds its slow tsunami
until even scientists send SOS.
We are not there to see their looks of dread
as data unfolds an arc of irrefutable
proportions. Like tree frogs at night
first one, then a chorus, over and over.
This is serious! But there's no theme music,
no romance, so we duck into
another theater, popcorn in hand.