The future is dark,
our days are numbered,
there will be a last time for everything
given all things are finite
and the news the universe 
is expanding eleven percent faster than expected
as if wishing to hasten it's own demise.
Look at everyone on this dark afternoon,
hunched over these little round tables
like mourners at a funeral 
for our collective future,
the barmaid staring on the torrential street,
the old man leaning into the jukebox
as though peering outwards 
from the dark rivers of time
towards the illuminated heart of the universe
where Ella Fitzgerald is singing, 
on this pitiless afternoon in eternity
sounding for all the world
that she’s finally found the audience 
she’s been waiting for.