Poems- Not your own.

[monster]

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.

.