we live in a merry time

around here there’s talk of ‘the big one’
not as in if but when the waves at last
are thrown from their shore’s caress
by earth-shatter only to come crashing
back, regurgitative, clearing miles of coast
of pines, apartments, outlets, primary schools
til it reaches the old town on the promontory
& pulls its battered remnants into the sea
bit by splintered bit. today i caught the rain
just as it began to pound the spongy ground,
watched as small pools gathered & overtook
each pitiful lip of gravel near the house until
it wet the tips of my slippers & wondered
will that day resemble any other? will kids
be at play when the sirens sound, the post
officer on their rounds, the unhoused person
often found shouting loud/earnest expletives
to/about the government near the roundabout
astounded when the cosmos clamors back?
all poor provincials caught trousers down
in all ages will have nothing on us that day.
the moment belongs to us. no power could
contest this. so our bartenders smile, they
ensure we get home safe. there’s christmas
lights up all year round, portraits of clowns,
sirens w/ crowns of coral & shells. if anyone
has more than enough & hounds her patrons
she who smiled sweet all night whether their
treatment of her was unwarranted or right
will sternly escort them out. she rarely has to
call on the cooks for backup, so commanding
is her glare. when the big water comes, i hope
i’m there to see her stare it down. w/ luck,
it’ll be the last building around, a beacon bar
none for the missing, stranded, & half-dead.
the press presence after might be pretty big.
we could probably bag a president, if it’s bad
enough. he’ll lay a flag by where we drowned
& pause for a photo-op, hair perfectly coiffed.