High noon

If the sun reached its climax above the North Pole

And sired a second sun, then left him to be raised beneath the South Pole by old snow wolves,

Or if the Earth finally warmed up to the sun, and they contrived a moonlit tryst at Venus’s, starting with drinks

And if the Earth sailed home before sunrise so tipsy that the Tropic of Cancer pitched to the Arctic Circle,

Or if the Doomsday Clock finally reached high noon

And we partied, spiking our drinks with the last shriveling icebergs,

Would it matter?

Thinking about the current New Yorker‘s cover and this old tweet:


By Peter

After stints as a trial lawyer and a church worker, Peter Stephens has settled in as a Virginia high school English teacher. Peter has read several books and poems. He wrote none of the posts below filed under "Passages." Click the link at the end of each post to see it in the context of the author's original post.