In the back room of a party at the end of the world,

A woman is crying,

A mother is cooing to her baby,

And a teenager is rooting through the liquor cabinet,

Head and shoulders concealed by wood, glass, and alcohol.

As he comes back out,

He raises his hands to show two bottles of Captain Morgan,

Like trophies,

And runs back to the party.

Who thought it’d ever be so violent?

The mood is plunging to despair, soaring to joy,

The crowd responds accordingly:

Screaming, crying, destroying,

Switches to

Y-M-C-A,

It’s fun to stay -

Everyone knows we’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.

The sun is expanding.

Rested against the wall in the back room,

The woman is still teary,

But mostly calm now.

The mother,

Still holding her child,

Sits next to her, telling stories

Of her late husband.

Pulled out by an undertow, drowned.

He was never a great swimmer, she says.

At least he never had to swim in the sun.