Filming the Doomsday Clock

We were told that the cloud cover was a blanket

about to settle into the shape of the present

which, if we wanted to imagine it

as a person, would undoubtedly look startled—

as after a verbal berating

or in advance of a light pistol-whipping.

The camera came and went, came and went,

like a masked man trying to light a too-damp fuse.

The crew was acting like a litter of mimics

trying to make a killing.

Anything to fill the vacuum of time.

The wind whirred and tracked the clouds.

The credits, we were told, would take the form

of a semi-scrawl, urban-sprawl, graffiti-style

typography. The soundtrack would include

instrumental versions of "Try a Little Tenderness."

Our handler, who was walking backward

in order to maintain constant eye contact with us,

nearly stumbled over a girl in a sheath and pearls

who was misting a shelf of hothouse flowers.

While the two apologized to each other,

we stood and watched the fine spray settle

over the leaves and drip onto the floor.

On the way out, we passed a door

with a small window reinforced with wired glass

through which we could see a nurse

positioning a patient on a table. We swore

afterward we'd heard her say, "Lie perfectly still

and look only inward." A clock chimed and

as the others were audibly counting backwards

from five to zero, I thought I heard someone say,

"Now let go of this morbid attachment to things."

Source: The Last Two Seconds (Graywolf Press, 2015)