APOCALYPSE THEN

We missed the Apocalypse. 
It happened and countless died 
but with so many disasters, 
we yawned and swiped left— 
faces down and glowing, 
onto the next distraction. 

I’ve seen the remains 
as I drive between cities— 
villages being torn down 
by ivy, plywood in place 
of glass, hollow denizens 
shuffling the streets. 

T. S. Eliot warned us thrice 
yet it still ended with a whimper. 

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry, was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit. www.bartbarkerpoet.com