The captain, from the bridge,
speaks to all of us through the station’s PA,
informs us that a rogue asteroid
is racing pell-mell in our direction
and at such a speed
that there is no way we can avoid it.
It will hit within the hour
and, for all of us,
there’ll be no hour beyond that.

As my shipmates hug and console each other,
I retreat to the bunk in my room,
lie on my back,
clear out all current thoughts
to make room for memory.

Like when I was a boy
and the white-bearded preacher came out of the woods,
wild-eyed, shabbily-clothed, clutching a Bible.
He was on a mission from God, he said.
as he screamed “Repent! Repent!”
in the town square, near the schoolyard,
by the pond, even outside the Mason’s hall.
“Repent or God will bring down his hammer,
destroy this world of sinners.”

I heard.
I’d shoplifted candy that very day.
Even as the cops moved the crazy man on,
I heard and believed.
That night, I merely picked at my supper.
Every glimpse of my mother and father, my siblings,
I imagined would be my last.
I couldn’t sleep
so I snuck out onto the rooftop,
for the longest time, looked up at the stars.
Where is the hammer coming from, I wondered.

Now, I draw the holo-curtains,
stare at a different night-sky,
but with the same trepidation, the same sorrow.
There’s some consolation though.
At least, it won’t be that hammer.
It won’t all be my fault.