The Anticlimactic End of the World

J. J. Steinfeld

God uses special effects and excessive pyrotechnics,

a mute speaks, sweet-voiced, upon regaining speech

and a sense of humour.

Everyone in the room is awed

left trembling and sweat drenched.

It’s a precursor to the most transcendent night,

an elderly hunchback declares,

the hump dissolving into ramrod straightness.

Prestidigitation will become commonplace,

a former stutterer slips into eloquence,

greeted by applause like legendary thunder

even a hint of legendary lightning and divination.

Three in the room grip camcorders

ready to capture the unfathomable

then the three swell to thirty

soon an excited sea of camcorders

attempting to outwit the incomprehensible.

Will all this be on the morning, evening, or night-time news?

This is a lousy movie with sloppy dialogue,

a blind cynic grumbles, retching out metaphor,

then screams in mid-sentence, I can see,

and looks at the delicate feet

of the most beautiful sinner in the room.

This room, spacious beyond measurement,

populated like a history of forgotten parades,

I inadvertently entered, haphazard condemnation,

sat at the very back, seeing all the deformities

and infirmities and worn-out dreams.

One by one

slowly and consecutively

things are resolved, errors undone, wounds healed

even belligerency is soothed.

It is miraculous, the youngest in the room says,

a recent wrist slash now a soft decoration.

It is glorious, the oldest in the room says,

long-memoried scars turning smooth.

I know it’s the end

but I’m not letting anyone in on the secret

the one-liners are just too sanctified

and I have nowhere else to go.

J. J. Steinfeld es un poeta, escritor de ficción, y dramaturgo canadiense. Ha publicado múltiples poemarios con Ekstasis Editions y Serengeti Press, Guernica Editions, entre otros. Este poema es un extracto del denominado An Affection for Precipices, publicado por Serengeti Press.

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