cherry

under a blue familiar sky polly baked a cherry pie the farmhands fell down in a coma overcome by its aroma through the fields the effluvia spread the hands fell down as if struck dead and through the corn rows, stern as sin john the baptist came again john, cried polly, half in fright why are you here before midnight? the end approaches, john replied i am just along for the ride dark clouds appeared like flying banners but polly did not forget her manners she kept her wits as she was able and asked john to sit at the table in a calm collected state she put some pie upon a plate and poured a glass of orange juice for catastrophe was no excuse john tentatively took a sip outside in the apocalypse the sky had turned to darkest night and demons howled in rare delight as prophesied in ancient screed the fearful four on flaming steeds filled the horizon from side to side the gates of hell were opened wide from duty polly did not swerve she thought a cup of tea might serve before the world was finally gone polly put the kettle on but before the water she could pour the pale rider came through the door no time for lengthy lamentations or exculpatory explanations "john, it was so nice knowing you" "polly, i really liked you too" then death, with a knowing glance so sly finished off the cherry pie