Things I Will Miss Once the Apocalypse Is Done
Sonorities of large bore well-tuned V8 engines.
Soft fingertips and palms,
clean fingernails,
Ibuprofen tablets
downed with potable water.
Alacritous computer screens flashing
through bits of the world.
The warm stream of a showerhead
splashing away a winter nap.
Bacon sizzling.
Abundant eggs over easy.
The scent of fresh cut grass.
The idiot sense of accomplishment
mowing the lawn can bring.
The whispered whoosh
of cool conditioned air in August.
The flair of artificial light.
Photographs of food on Facebook.
Complex British costume dramas on PBS.
Inflammatory edits of the news on Fox.
The aroma of coffee brewing.
Gluttonous satisfactions of Thanksgiving
and the glittering excess of Christmas.
Unsolicited email offers
of chemical peels and electronic cigarettes.
Cigarettes and butane lighters.
Reliable clicks of date and time.
Music played by professionals.
Junk mail and postcards,
mail delivery of any kind.
The sound of machine-washed clothes
tumbling in the dryer.
Beer, wine, and intoxicating spirits
safe enough and good enough to drink.
Anything like a clean, well-lighted place.
Soft fingertips and palms,
clean fingernails,
Ibuprofen tablets
downed with potable water.
Alacritous computer screens flashing
through bits of the world.
The warm stream of a showerhead
splashing away a winter nap.
Bacon sizzling.
Abundant eggs over easy.
The scent of fresh cut grass.
The idiot sense of accomplishment
mowing the lawn can bring.
The whispered whoosh
of cool conditioned air in August.
The flair of artificial light.
Photographs of food on Facebook.
Complex British costume dramas on PBS.
Inflammatory edits of the news on Fox.
The aroma of coffee brewing.
Gluttonous satisfactions of Thanksgiving
and the glittering excess of Christmas.
Unsolicited email offers
of chemical peels and electronic cigarettes.
Cigarettes and butane lighters.
Reliable clicks of date and time.
Music played by professionals.
Junk mail and postcards,
mail delivery of any kind.
The sound of machine-washed clothes
tumbling in the dryer.
Beer, wine, and intoxicating spirits
safe enough and good enough to drink.
Anything like a clean, well-lighted place.
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Author's Note
Older than the Poem is the List.
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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It is the little things, huh? Well done, I like how you captured a large part of a personality in a poetry list.
Thank you
"Cigarettes and butane lighters.
Reliable clicks of date and time.
Music played by professionals.
Junk mail and postcards,
mail delivery of any kind."
Oh yes. I like the full sweep of this piece. *
I love how clear the images, smells, and sounds come through in this piece. They conjure such an emotional response with so little thought. These are things we all know, all have experienced in one form or another and so we can all relate. I found myself chuckling at the line: “The idiot sense of accomplishment mowing the lawn can bring.” I have felt that so many times.
"The idiot sense of accomplishment..."
Yes. That most of all.
Fav.
"Photographs of food on Facebook."
Yes.*
Hey Gary, inspired me to try one myself. Also loved "the idiot sense of accomplishment", like anything I do now to this under-water heavily mortgaged still paying off the lawn tractor kingdom could actually matter.
It's difficult to pick a favorite line in this piece as it works so well as a whole, at any rate I found this piece immensely gratifying. Great work gary.
What a fabulous list! But why do I suddenly miss Merle and The Walking Dead?*
Will there be no creature comforts? Will we be utterly roughing it?
How will I manage without hair conditioner?
***
Thanks to everyone for the kind remarks. I hope to see other lists, perhaps here on Fictionaut.
"Junk mail and postcards,
mail delivery of any kind."
This line hit home because I actually, really evem missed junk mail after Hurricane Katrina. It was a red letter day when mail delivery returned.
It is the little things that one will end up missing after a catastrophe. Very insightful, Gary.
Thank you, Charlotte.
Loved this. I think I will miss waiting for the apocalypse most of all.*
Ooh, this is excellent! I agree, we all should make lists.
Well said. *
Thank you, Gary, Jane, and Beate.
It's lovely to have your comments.
I like the careful attention to detail here. Not just "water" but "potable water"
Thank you, Elizabeth.
In the beginning was the List!
Great job here, Gary. You make it yours.
I read through this a few times trying to find my favorite line. But I liked too many.
Thank you very much for reading, Bill and Steve.
The things we take for granted.
Indeed. Thank you, Frankie.
Great idea and execution, Gary.*
Thank you very much, John.
I was nodding in agreement with about everything in this fine piece of writing, Gary. But here's the one that just floored me with that odl and sweet pang memory can bring.
"The warm stream of a showerhead
splashing away a winter nap."
Win.