I Don't Trust Doomsday Preppers

You said you had been saving rations

Just in case it all went Global South

You keep a switchblade on your bedside table

And dream it might taste flesh one day

You asked for two ice cubes in your double Scotch

And your fingers smell of gasoline.

The market took a nosedive

So you took several of your own.

Bags packed

Like you won't hesitate to,

When a convenient moment comes,

Leave me behind.

Because you have been

Busier dreading the end

Than living the middle

With the rest of us.

And all those calloused hands;

Reaching through the barricade

Because they committed the mortal sin

Of being born on the wrong side...

They just mark one less mouth to feed,

One more portion stowed away.

I don't trust Doomsday Preppers

You who design your purpose

To include a door to slam behind you.

It turns humans into shrouding noise

To be ignored or silenced

Lest you lose sight

Of your worst case scenario...

But is it that?

So what would happen

If Doomsday really came.

If all you had was time,

And you could no longer spend it preparing?

Would you take that fancy switchblade

And slice from your ear to your clavicle

And paint your rations red

To celebrate a job well done?

I don't trust Doomsday Preppers.

Doomsday is not yours alone.

And yet you claim it, and

Make it unavoidable.

J.K.