HILLTOPPER SAM

Doomsday

In three years from now

the cologne I stole from the department store

will have accompanied me one last time

to a date where my father pays the bill;

Medusa’s body, now all dried up.

You can cling to my linen shirt

through that prehistoric parking lot

past the only man on the east coast

who still has the courtesy to warn us,

“The end is near.”

On doomsday I know I will beg

for you to whisper that dull lullaby,

that selfishly assures me

you are all right

after every ugly sin-

even though I never found the time

to ask for His forgiveness.