Living Happily at the End of the World

The world ends like an almond tree pulled by its roots,

withered brittle

before it could rot.

A field sits fallow as a heat map

angry pixels, dust rising

the color of ash.

A man with a loud tie mimes astonishment on TV:

A deadly heat wave

shattering all records,

as if weather were an adequate measure of pain.

We live happily here,

laying in bed, a fan

protests the heat of our bodies; we worry,

but not enough.

I am dreaming

of ice, an avocado, a bead sliding

down a cocktail,

there’s an ache

ignored behind my eyes, water rising like a pulse,

pressure then release.

We sit up late and

speak of eucalyptus, the shape of convection,

a kangaroo bursts

through the underbrush.

I pass you a drink and we smile, the world on fire around us.