Greg Williamson Mega Tsunami When the Cumbre Vieja volcano slides offshore,
It will create a wave, models have found,
Wider, taller than, and heading for
Manhattan at—oh, ballpark?—speed of sound,Spreading disease, plague, turf toe, famine, strife,
And “no land” clear to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and you,
Why you’re, in the sausagefest you call a life,
Ragdolled and munched, you sabagedbakook, by dewUntil—gray suits, Church of the Open Sky—
You take your last sandfacial, caddy a board,
And lay back—though it’ll take a helluva swami
To see you—manning a slab in the boneyard, to ri—
To rip that redonculous, that crazy good
One thousand-foot-high face
of the mega tsunami.