I open the closet door and ask,
is it time yet?
Is it here?
Has the sky fallen?
Have the four horsemen
ridden across the horizon?

No one answers!

I slam the door and know
that the fever has consumed them all.
Millennium fever has left me alone �
To mend my ways and tend my fears

I open the closet a crack �

And feel the silent serpent . . . night . . .
close tight around me
and the fever grips me.
A Python of fear,
constricting and leaving me breathless.

But I slam the door again . . . Safety!

Safety, from the chidings of Nostradamus
or the sorrowful wisdom of Cayce . . .
The end is near � the wise sayers of the centuries
have warned me, their reason
is the true reason
and it is apocalypse now.

I crack the door again.

To chance a glimpse of doomsday,
but find only . . . Tuesday.
I mount my fear
and brave the joist with destiny
and step beyond my closeted cloister
to face the day that drove me mad . . .

But,

I sniffed no Satan�s sulfur,
nor demon�s fire.
My skin did not burst and bubble in flame.
No brimstone, or noxious gases appeared,
so I ventured to the street
to meet my fate as destiny desires.

I crossed the avenue

then crossed myself,
genuflecting
as the Millennium rained sweetly
upon my upturned lips . . .
and I never saw the truck
that swept me to eternity.


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