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“The Doomsday Clock” Sounds Like the Title of a B-Movie
Some of us play villains: you can tell
by our eyebrows and schemes. Some of us
play scientists: you can tell by our elaborate
charts. Our sons and daughters play
neighborhood kids who ride bikes and yell
Hey mister! There are no other roles.
Near the end, the ticks pick up speed,
metronoming catastrophe. Headlines—
FIRE! FLOOD! CITY GONE!—
spin out of the black while violins swell,
staccato and frantic. We follow
the script. Plot and cajole. Sometimes
we imagine an audience filling the dark
theatre. They boo and cheer in all
the right places as if, from our bright
burning screen, we can hear them.
“The Doomsday Clock” Sounds Like the Title of a B-Movie
Some Things Are Not Hypothetical
The Whywolf