The rough beast does not slouch, he walks erect
while speaking at rotary club luncheons,
charity balls, and a late-night public
access channel, building his dominion.
He is pudgy, hardly a feral child
brimming with preternatural powers
(an unassuming grass-roots antichrist),
yet he has been cultivating his charm
since the advent of sin. The world won’t end
with a whimper, but with a mobile phone
ringing out the Requiem Aeternam
beneath the seat of an El Camino:
then at rest stop near Idaho Falls
he’ll catch the endgame from a bathroom stall.