AMIS SHRUGGED

for JB

New York was flickering out like a faulty light,
and the skyline was tapering out like the fuse
fizzles on the opening credits to Mission Impossible.

Should you choose to accept it, even the Statue
of Liberty crooked her right arm and dropped
her torch in ocean, where it splashed and sizzled.

Simmering. The great beast in shutdown heaved
it haunches up under itself to winter it out.
The cash registers were done with singing.

On television in a bar where the neon still burned,
the English Professor was sighing his opinion
to the anchor in London who asked one more question.

Amis shrugged. And the world began to run
like peas on the deck of The Titanic. It tilted, 
gaining momentum as it broke and buried them.