Drive Through Apocalypse

Head for the drive-through
Apocalypse up the main drag
Across from the 7-11.

There, when the sun finally
Smothers through red dwarf
Towards darkness the

Miniskirt lipstick waitresses
Roll through the twilight
Trailing motes of ash, teasing

Rich high-school boys who
Wolf whistle from their silent Teslas,
Embarrassing their dates.

All-knowing boomers
Pull up their masks,
Undulating to the Dead.

Try our char-broiled
Apocalypse combo:
Feed-lot burger with its mother’s milkshake (and fries).

Savor the smoky beetle-kill tang
And the subtle hint of methane -
Our wide-eyed cows grilling us all.