There were coronal mass ejections:
phone signals were patchy
and those of us with analogue TVs
cursed like dinosaurs stepping in tar pits,
distracted by the strange lights in the sky,
and grappled with portable aerials.
'Fracking' was given the go-ahead
in Lancashire, depite the risk of earthquakes
or running water catching fire
as the Thames so amazingly didn't
at the Milennium Eve celebrations;
a biblical punishment, hot and cold, on tap:
the destruction of the cities of the plain
re-enacted at kitchen-sink level.
Increasing numbers of sheep were born deformed.
As the Jubilee Barge was completed, files,
apparently newly-discovered, revealed the extent
of massacres carried out in the Queen's name
when she was newly-crowned.
There were sightings of giants in Liverpool.
Disabled people closed down part of London.
There was heavy rain in Sunderland throughout the day:
the view from the canteen was grim.
Most ominous of all, however: every paper
in the hospital newsagents
bore 100 DAYS TO GO
beneath its masthead,
counting down, not to some Mayan
Armageddon, but, worse, the advent
of the London Olympics.
* * *
Perhaps it's the strain of having to come up with a new poem each day, but all I could think to do for this one was to write a list of the events that made the news yesterday. Ending with the Olympics in place of the Apocalypse just seemed...amusing, really.