Watch others fight their way to me

Across the lake,

A storm brews and swirls

Wildly, a breeze becoming

A monstrous force

To slam a dock

Against the wave-break.

The concrete tiles

Shatter and splinter like glass

And the tin roof,

No longer hot from the sun,

Warps and melts anyway.

The rustless chains that

Once held it to the lakebed

Now stretch and pull and

Finally give,

And the hoists and lifts

Cannot hold any longer.

Across the lake, there is apocalypse

And I am docked here

In raccoon cove,

Where the golf balls hit sand

And the grilling is free

And the boat babes are my

Best friends.

Across the lake

There is always apocalypse.

So,

I will dock here and

Watch the show.