Rapture

Yesterday I was doing some earnest procrastinating on the interwebs.
It started with looking for a synonym for the word torture--
don't ask me why--but that led to one link, which led
to another, which led to a website called
After the Rapture: Pet Care.
It's a site where a network of Christians has organized
a network of non-Christians who have volunteered
to care for the pets of the recently-raptured.
So, for a small fee, you can have peace of mind knowing
when all of a sudden the believers disappear,
somebody at this organization will basically start the
Atheist phone tree.

Hello, Patty? Denise here. Yes, it's happened. 
Can you pick up Coco and Peanut on Thursday? 
Great, I'll just give a ring to my buddies
At the Ladies Tuesday Book Club and Agnostic Society. 

It makes sense, if you think about it.
I mean, if you believe in the rapture, and you're not a total jackass
You would want your dog to be in good hands
After you quite literally go with God.
And it seems that the Bible, while saturate with
lurid imagery of teeth-gnashing and just punishments for the wicked,
is a little sparse when it comes to how to plan for poor Mittens,
trapped in your 5th floor apartment, with
all of her hunting instincts bred out of her
and no opposable thumbs to work the can opener.

I had heard before, from Pentecostal friends, that
the sinks would run with blood and the rivers would boil.
I had heard that once the rapture happened
the unbelievers would lay awake,
unable to sleep because the skies would be thick
with the wailing of those left behind for the time of Tribulation.
There would be massive confusion, pestilence,
and violence from our own hands.
Any day now, they said,
the rapture would happen. Be ready.

But here's the thing:
I already can't sleep. Long after the clock
has trudged back into single digits
I lay awake staring at the popcorn ceiling,
looking for constellations, stars to wish on.

And there is wailing, too. When I turn on the news
there is some turgid politician or overpainted news anchor,
giving me more reasons to howl, to keen, to tear out my hair.
Every day in Damascus, Kabul, St. Petersburg,
Detroit,  New Orleans, Austin,
someone's sink does run with blood.
There is enough wailing and gnashing of teeth,
to send chills up any listening spine.

The very idea that the worst isn't already happening seems silly.
I think the Tribulation is here, and we have made it ourselves
with no help from the Anti-Christ.

It's not that I don't have hope.
But if it gets any worse, and you disappear
I just want you to know,
I will take care of your dog in the aftermath.
I could use the extra warmth.