Enthusiasms

I demand that the human race
ceases multiplying its kind
and bow out
I advise it
And as punishment and reward
for making this plea I know
I’ll be reborn
the last human
Everybody else dead and I’m
an old woman roaming the earth
groaning in caves
sleeping on mats
And sometimes I’ll cackle, sometimes
pray, sometimes cry, eat and cook
at my little stove
in the corner
“Always knew it anyway”
I’ll say
And one morning won’t get up from my mat.