Centipede Apocalypse

 

by Brett Rutherford

And just like that
the night sky lifted up,
curled up and halfway
over. It was no sky
but a roof. Who knew?

 And there he stood,
two-eyed and pale
and grimacing. I froze
in terror while others fled.
His darting orbs followed
the escaping horde.

He knows we are here,
that maybe millions
call this a world. A hole
a million miles across
opened, and sounds
like trumpets issued forth.
It was his mouth, and this
the call to judgment.

The sky resumes
its familiar blackness.
Manna still falls
and feeds us,
but we have gone mad.

Our days are numbered
and we know it.
Doom tramples over us.
The day of wrath has come.

 

Best of All Possible Worlds

 

by Brett Rutherford

Doctor, I'm glad
you had time to squeeze me in.
No, nothing physical.
My limbs are all intact.

I am far past
adolescence
as you can see:
segment after segment,
a full hundred.

Sex life? Oh that's
no problem.
Here under the carpet
the living's easy.
Food falls, and fluids
ooze to puddled ponds
where there's enough
for everyone.
The human never vacuums.
We party all night,
and as for sex,
God! I've lost count.

It must be my mind
that's gone all wrong
on me. I just go through
the motions of eating,
wrestling with my brothers,
topping the others
in the orgy crevices.

They say you help,
that on this couch
I can talk it through.
I can hardly say it,
what troubles me.

I sleep, too long,
and far too deep,
and in my dreams
I am pursued
by thousand-legged
monsters. Yes,
millipedes! There,
I have said it.

They seem so real,
I wake up screaming.
I know there is no
such animal.
Mythology, I know.
Old fairy tales.

Tell me, doctor,
what is a centipede to do?