It Is What It Is By John Greiner

I’m on my deathbed

writing the end of the earth

while the usual all and sundry

are off to work.

Some genius is talking about

Rashomon and it’s not me

in spite of my St. John the Divine

 vanity.

Kurosawa is long dead,

but you already know that.

This deathbed isn’t worth much

because I’ll soon be late for clock in.

I want to go to Texas or Japan

for the apocalypse,

but who is to say that I’ll still be here

to see Texas or Japan go up in smoke?

I think that the Alamo would be a great

place to witness the finale of this world.

Davy Crockett was well aware of this. 

I’d love that my end would be 

with a Lawson’s egg salad sandwich

 in hand.

We’ve been down this path before.

It’s more horrific

than the sentiments of this poem.

Someone will say that

I am insensitive

and someone else will say that

I am impolite

and someone in the ascendancy

will just slit my throat.

It is what it is.

John Greiner is a Pushcart Prize nominated writer living in Queens, NY. He was educated at the New School for Social Research.  Greiner's work has appeared in Sand, Empty Mirror, Sensitive Skin, Unarmed, Street Valueand numerous other magazines. His chapbooks, broadsides and collections of poetry and short stories include  Turnstile Burlesque (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2017), The Laundrymen (Wandering Head Press, 2016), Bodega Roses (Good Cop/Bad Cop Press, 2014),Modulation Age (Wandering Head Press, 2012), Shooting Side Glances(ISMs Press, 2011) and Relics From a Hell’s Kitchen Pawn Shop (Ronin Press, 2010).