Wanted: Branch-Davidian
He’d been to the End of the World
and it wasn’t all that. He wanted something more
than a couple of placid sheep, a small valley,
a few Swiss shops selling pocket knives and cheese.
It’s not that he really thought he’d find anything
Apocalyptic. It’s just that he wants wonders—
trees growing through rocks, a valley of bones, a lake of fire,
shepherds hunkered down, looking for the great North star.
He’d listened to false prophets before, but had managed
to keep working like a true disciple, predicted
the Day of the Lord on a hunch, called it divine,
flew to the surrounded compound and watched
through binoculars from a pleasant vantage.
He brought a whip to cleanse the temple of the tee shirt stand,
and kept an eye on the compound at night just before the fires,
as it stood, bathed in the all-knowing spotlight.