I must repent for global warming? No,
not for the wasted fuel. For not looking
for that star on other side of the galaxy?
The one in cataclysm giving rise to what,
some energetic gamma rays? Okay that too.
But the shock that shook Oort’s cloud sent
a killer comet down my way, just yesterday
it seems, with all its fire and stinking stones—
made a billion tons of brown air to stain lungs.
I retreated to the limestone caves deep below
and slept a century, dreamt of clear blue air.
Today, I am a groundhog. Will I see my shadow
on the plains? Or will the nuclear winter melt
into a new spring?