Instead of going out on weekends
you stay in, open your closet door
& throw rainbow sprinkles at
the forehead of the apocalypse.

The apocalypse’s forehead
is botoxed & taut,
like a Hollywood trampoline,
& the rainbow sprinkles bounce off it
& into your mouth.

“You’re going to ruin your dinner,”
a clay-sounding voice
says from the shadows.

“Good…” you say. “I hope I do,”

& then kid yourself by opening
a new package of rainbow sprinkles,

pretending this form
of childish self-defense
can go on/last forever.