We thought the world would end, and so we made
a quiche, potato salad, lemonade,
and went down to the Point to watch the earth
open like a Titan giving birth
to a god, the rivers torn toward empty space
as if the edge of a medieval map, grace-
enshrouded, monster-guarded, void and deep
as an old mind entering death from sleep.
Well, shortly after noon it clouded up.
There was a little snow. A single boat
moved slowly toward the West End Bridge. I drank
some decent wine out of a plastic cup.
A distant siren sang a quavering note.
Someone tossed a stone, which skipped, then sank.
Jacob Bacharach 
it’s just part of your whole sick Steelers thing.
“void and deep / as an old mind entering death from sleep” will come to me in the coming weeks, and I will be very pleased with myself for having thought of it.
IOZZY old trout, do not go all Proust on us. Although your opening would be worthy of Waugh, Greene, Donleavy, Tolstoy or Oglivie…”We thought the world would end so we made a quiche…”