All my life I’ve dreamed of the apocalypse.
When I was a child I barred the doors
and windows against the invasions
that came when I slept.
Now that I’m grown
I still dream that it’s coming
I pack a bag and flee,
home is no longer a refuge.
When I’m awake I believe it will come
in slow small steps, unnoticed,
until it’s too late to get away.
Today I saw it
in the bodies of children
sleeping in the forest,
sprawled in town squares
on the other side of the world.
Then I turned and looked and knew
that it’s been here
all the time
behind me.