Guilty at the Rapture
Guilty at the Rapture
by
Keith Taylor
All things good would rise
into air, pulled from dirt and sky,
from cars left driverless
below, slamming into trees
That would be my first clue.
On my ride home from the river--
burning on my gold Schwinn
and sucking hard on a mint to smother
the newspaper cigarette I'd just smoked
in a stand of scrub willow--
I would have to dodge
machines abandoned by vanished Christians,
glorified while driving back from work
after centuries of trial.
I would know a final loneliness
before I screamed through the back door
and found supper smoldering over gas.
My parents gone. Even my sister--
only a hair less guilty--
called to her celestial chorus.
I would be alone in a world
of smokers, crooks, murderers,
of moviegoers, gamblers and sex fiends,
left, at last, alone in a world
without one hope of grace.
.
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The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity Amelia Earhart
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