If the world ends tomorrow--
My dad will sit out in a lawn chair
the freezing Minnesota air,
chainsmoking and smirking.
And you, maybe if you wanted,
we'd stand at the top of the Indian mounds
like we did on the Fourth of July years ago
and watch meteors firework across the sky.
There will be no mini doughnut stand this time,
no children laughing at the bright flashes,
but also no repentance.
If the world ends tomorrow,
you don't need to apologize for anything.
Hearts are fragile things
and it's not like this world
hasn't been struck by a meteor before.