An English Apocalypse
The end of all things will be on Wednesday afternoon
Mr Peterson, in his second best charcoal suit
will be accosted by Caphrael, a Prince of Hell
(who will be recognisable by the smell of old eggs)
Mr P. will cry “Bugger me” and drop his briefcase.
Death, War, Famine
and the other member of the band
(you know the one, his name escapes me)
Will run amok in Camden market
And overturn three stalls of leather goods
And upset some arrangements
Of ersatz Gucci handbags.
A Tube driver
Aghast for all the strange apparitions
And in a foam-fuelled frenzy
will lose control
And drive his Piccadilly train
From Holborn to King’s Cross
London Underground will announce delays
Due to a power outage at Liverpool Street.
Leviathan, in full sea monster regalia
Will arrive five minutes behind schedule
And eat Tower Bridge
The dead will rise in Smithfield
Angels will be seen in Highbury
Hellfire will rain on a third of Bloomsbury
Bloody hail over Hyde Park
A six-point earthquake in the City
All in all, London will experience more chaos than is typical for
teatime on Wednesday.
Then will come the end, and suddenly:
The Son of Man coming on all the clouds of heaven.
The cherry red doubledeckers will burn like paper models
Before Christ the Tiger.
I'm not sure about "Christ the Tiger." It seems a little inconspicuous here. But I like the understatement in the poem--very British.