At the end of the world, will anyone think

of the man in the infomercials

who demonstrates the suction

power of vacuum cleaners?
I think about this often, of the different

ways we might finish

our sentence; perhaps a nuclear cloud
will engulf us and I’ll say

‘look, the house wears the smoke

like sweatpants’. I suppose

we won’t get to choose who shares

in our personal apocalypse.
I’ll probably fumble my lines.
Will the television networks still operate?

I hope so. I’d like to turn on the TV

and find an advertisement to fall asleep to.

To invest my last moments in thinking

about a man with an American accent

who I’ve never met. With such faith

in his vacuum cleaners how can he help

but lift the weight from the world.