What rough beast is lurching toward Guatemala?

Well, this is it!
The end of just about everything!

December 21, 2012.

Right now, where the Mayan calendar
ran out of carving space,
we find ourselves
in a post-Mayan world:
no more Mayans, maybe;
no calendars;
faced with the prospect
of a life without John Boehner
as Speaker of the House;
doom and degradation in
all around I see!

I have proof of the end
of civilized life as we have known it.
Today--December 21, 2012--
Kenny rang the doorbell!

Kenny offered to recoat our driveway,
which--God knows!--needs recoating.
"Now, Kenny," I said to him,
"you understand that this does not apply to you,
but you know that your business
is filled with recoat reprobates
who coat driveways with water-soluble
licorice and then leave town.

"Not us!", Kenny said.
"There ain't no licorice in our sludge!
We use nothing but the best asphalt,
rubber-based, hand-troweled stuff!
We give you a letter guar'n'teen our work."

"That's good!", I said, "That's real good!
I see your phone number here.
Where's that area code? Do you have an office?"

"That there area code's in Idaho!" Kenny said.
He didn't say anything about an office.

That made sense.
The office probably went down
with the first crack in the Mayan calendar.

The end did not come with either
a bang or a whimper: it came
in a used pickup and a black mop.

I thanked Kenny kindly,
oddly remembering that I had an uncle
whose name was Kenny.
"Not now," I said, "there is no point in it.
I thought there might be trumpets, or something;
not just a bucket of tar."

Kenny looked confused.

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