The End of Everything

Ahora, around a hut in the mountains of Guatemala,

the great-tailed grackle mocks an ambulance,

el gallo beats his chest while rain splinters off the roof of his whorehouse,

Tarzan Boy plays on repeat from the boom box of a lineman fixing the power by the road,

a voice from a traveling megaphone has decided it is very important for us to know something in Spanish, pero nosotros solo hablamos ingles.

I think he says, “the buckling of knees beneath the weight of death is a luxury afforded only by the living.”

God reclines in her bonded leather La-z-boy with the afterbirth of a trillion generations oozing to the floor at the end of everything.

She is watching reruns of the Price is Right.

And she is only laughing.