A Sonnet on the End of Man

It wasn't even raining!
But the repentant had umbrellas
And folded hands and sandwich boards
Proclaiming the end of days.

There wasn't anything left.
But the desperate had pickaxes
And dusty claws and burlap sacks
Full of fool's gold.

But I wasn't there.
I was busy thinking of a

Beautiful woman

I'd known long ago.

I leave the room,
Turning the lights off behind me.