The last poem in the book.
You know that moment in people's life
where people say, oh, tomorrow is going to get better.
Right?
Everything's going to be OK, tomorrow is going to be better.
And then there's some times where you think,
but what if it just doesn't?
What if it doesn't get better?
And this is my response to that.
"The Conditional."
"Say tomorrow doesn't come.
Say the moon becomes an icy pit.
Say the sweet gum tree is petrified.
Say the sun's a foul black tire fire.
Say the owl's eyes are pinpricks.
Say the raccoon is a hot tar stain.
Say the shirt's plastic ditch litter.
Say the kitchen's a cow's corpse.
Say we never get to see it.
Bright future, stuck like a bum star, never coming close,
never dazzling.
Say we never meet her.
Never him.
Say we spend our last moments staring at each other,
hands knotted together, clutching the dog,
watching the sky burn.
Say it doesn't matter.
Say that would be enough.
Say you'd still want this.
Us, alive, right here, feeling lucky."