The Rapture Has Been Postposed Until Further Notice
Somewhere in Jerusalem, a tree continues to grow.
The seas give up plans to turn blood-red and merely wave invitingly toward shore.
The locusts, then, are never born.
The weatherman tells us to plan a beautiful weekend for hiking.
Someone later sees four horsemen in a small-town tavern drinking beer, too drunk to speak.
Four horses parked outside, still as a broken carousel.
The omen no one saw gives up and goes back home, heats up a TV dinner, and sulks.
The grasses break their fever and can’t bring themselves to burn.
The earth suppresses a dangerous quake with a little Pepcid AC and some ice cream.
Those who had planned to be raptured instead attend that evening’s PTA meeting.
Jesus lets his hair grow long and tries to get the band back together.
In Los Angeles, clouds of smog tease themselves apart like cotton, letting sunlight through.
The Oscars will be held as previously planned.
A crafty dermatologist lances the last boil, and the boil-afflicted take to the streets to dance.
The lepers gather up their extremities and buy up all the units in a foreclosed co-op.
The babies once bound for limbo release their bowels and sing.about the author