Rollover
The color of the sky was
the interlaced phosporescent blinking
of computer monitors going bunk.
Everywhere, the uncertainty
mixes with fear, dread and anxiety
like a giddy psychedelic cocktail
of psychotropic delights.
Doomsayers abound, sandwiched in
cardboard placards invoking scenarios
of death and destruction.
(Some say the world will end
in fire and ice {Frost, of course},
some dismiss it as millenarian crap.
I say, with all certainty,
tomorrow will be Saturday.
31 December 1999
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