I was waiting for a simple message from you that
we both know was never to come. I sat impatiently
atop the cities tallest building and watched the coming
storm.  I witnessed the water beat the feeble earth
into submission and it looked alright to me.  But then
the raging sinless sea swallowed the shore.  The end
of our hometown (est. 1919) took about a minute
and a half. A man leapt out of his chair and said it
was amazing as the punishing, purifying wave tore
into his home of 20 years.  The coin laundromats and
malls became the shallows and downtown by the Top 40
radio station became the deep.  Clown fish swam amongst
the stop lights, trash cans and satellite dishes.  And a
coral reef began to grow deeply into the brick of the tasty
Greek restaurant at the corner of MLK and Main.  Eels and
rays swam up the sidewalks and hammerheads patroled
the submerged skyscrapers.  Admittedly, a lot of the
busy people who didn’t take the time to look out their
smudged windows and watch the water devour the flood
walls and seafront property didn’t make it out of their
homes and cars and schools and businesses.  And those
people that didn’t make it to the outskirts of the metro in
time were quickly drowned and integrated breathlessly into
the oceanic food chain.  The deep began to kiss my ankles
and I thought I would surely drown.  I surmised that you
probably weren’t thinking about us at that moment and that
it was for the best.  You had other matters on your mind.

I watched a miniature apocalypse take place and
I thought I should probably call and quickly tell you
that everything you ever loved was gone or going.

I decided against it.

Anything I say to you is gonna come out wrong anyway.