At seventy-eight and eighty-one, Mom and Dad
are still going strong. Halfway between twelve and thirteen,
Chance, our Beagle, is still going strong. Civilization,
at roughly seven-thousand years old, is still going strong.
In my dreams an asteroid is due to collide with America;
I announce, like a bored clerk at the DMV, that it’s four-thirty
and the sun is still going strong. Morning hits me like a slap in the face.
On the TV, a reporter predicts nationwide winter storms, snow and ice
and rain making travel treacherous. Stranded or delayed, our plans
are unchanged, for despite the carnage, the rubble, and the brutal cold,
life on Earth is going strong.