The Night of the Comet

We cruised down the freeway, and onto the streets.
Where the winos and drunkards do vomit.
Past brownstones, and oak trees,
past couples making love,
on the dreadful night of the comet.

Nothing seemed out of place,
everything seemed quite nice.
Flags flickered in the wind, held by grummets.
Dogs, they howled, and birds flew away,
on the dreadful night of the comet.

The silence that was deafening,
grew to a crescendo'd roar,
There were no crowds in the market.
Glued to the TV, women shrieked with glee,
on the dreadful night of the comet.

What does it all mean? What was our sin?
The fear we all had, ground our cuspids.
Then there in the sky, we all knew we would die,
on the dreadful night of the comet.

Copyright ©2007 Luke Nichols

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