How can one name this evil age?

Or say, “fifty black briefcases
are missing in Russia. In each,
a small hydrogen bomb . . .”

A brief news-flash, a bulletin.
“A general says that some were sold
to Iraq and to Syria.”

Each day, the world holds by a hang-nail.

The pasty-faced announcer nods.
“And now, a word from our sponsors . . .”
Will the great and terrible day

Of the Lord hold for commercials?
Heaven’s Gate, Waco, Aum Shinrikyo.
And a great star fell from heaven . . .

Which, in Russian, means Chernobyl.

I bow and kneel.
How I no longer wish to see
signs and wonders.

I know better,
but pray that the portents are wrong
and lock the doors . . .

And then the fourth angel sounded.