Flight of the Albatross.

What person, place, or thing was silent now?
With Earth ending, what reason did exist
to remain quiet, scruples adhered to?

And in the streets were humans wearing masks
to keep the toxins separate from their lungs,
their dogs expired, lying in the streets
and decomposing into nothing new.
The last surviving men cavorted ‘round
parading, driving, slaughtering their kin,
raping former wives of friends and foes.
Tomorrow, none of this would be intact.

And woman also killed her fellow kind
with knives and other weapons free to grab
now that the world was surely doomed to roast.
They cracked the necks of children to prevent
the cries of pain from adding to the din,
then trampled off to find spontan’ous sex.

And yet there still remained a hint of mind
in vari’us individu’ls here and there…
they talked infrequently about the sights,
the helicopters planted in the sky,
the winds constantly blowing gale-force gusts,
the crimsons mixed with oranges in cascades
that fell along the skyline and were lost.
Always, more helicopters on the scene.

And countless rotors never stopped their spin,
they levitated choppers as to fly
across terrain and drop a payload which
was unknown to the oldest of pilots
and in all likelihood unknown to all.
The copters, tens of thousands up above,
refused to stop their cycling blades for God
machine, physics, philosophy, or man.
They coldly peppered black the warmish sky.

And Agatha was watching this unfold
as it had done for weeks on end so far,
commented on by pundits on viewscreens
and politicians, if they existed.
Her bluish eyes contrasted with the reds
that shaded the apocalyptic sky;
her hair of red contrasted with her eyes
that looked forlornly at the foreign scene
and tried to figure out what this day meant.

And while she sighed and waited for her time,
the mural through the window lumbered on,
unfolding as a movie or a dream.
All matter was collapsing on her spot.
In a matter of hours, all’d be gone.
What mattered anymore? Why even think?
It would be minutes now… perhaps seconds…

And at that very moment, with such force
the ceiling disappeared and in its place,
the roof now gone and only sky above,
an Albatross! With eyes of brightest green
and wings of purest white spread out in span
that must have, tip to tip, been fifty feet.
This bird was marvelously present tense
and looked expectantly into the eyes
of Agatha, who understood and knew
her ride had come and it was time to fly.

And with fervor, confusion, and the like
she climbed on back of Albatross and rose
above the hoards of logical zombies
and into scarlet skies across the bay.

And Agatha looked back towards the land
before she vanished into backwards time
which manifested as a bright blue light
inducing nostalgia in travelers.
Someday she would arrive back at this time,
the Albatross returns eventually…