Waiting to Happen.
The bottom of the town might open up on influenza. Or everybody on the planet finds a lump. Some man might plan even now some foreign words to live in the future's memory -- as Kristallnacht takes up space in ours. Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre. Bubonic Plague. Consider now the length of good times we've indulged in, consider the bliss of sullen bus rides, consider the paradise of trouble on the job, the incommensurable dream of sexual frustration, the joy of being mad and unfulfilled, the glory of a night alone, lonely, watching sitcoms; left out of the world. On the other hand, this may be remembered as the dawn of the golden age, wherein after five millennia of disaster followed on disaster, forever after no disaster comes. Then this loneliness will never be redeemed. If we never starve this bread will never seem in hindsight to have been a feast of pleasure is part of what I mean. But look at the books. Consider the odds. We will very likely starve.
Jennifer Michael Hecht's poetry has appeared in Best American Poetry 1999, Poetry, The Partisan Review, The Southern Review, The Gettysburg Review, Missouri Review, and Denver Quarterly. Her first collection, The Next Ancient World, is published with Tupelo Press.