No-pocalypse

I was waiting for the end, and when it didn’t come
I took up crochet. I wove a blanket
of steel wool I kept in the den
to warm my enemy
who any day might show up on my stoop
asking to spend the night. I smelled him
dislodge from his corner
like a seed pod, slouch toward me longing
to grow. I emptied my house of all objects—
every magazine, pillbox and mirror—
in the front yard
piled them and posted a sign,
Take what you want. I painted silver
my body, went nude through town
until I reached the square, where I stood
still like a statue. And all my tips
I gave to the poor
pin-striped businessmen, who blew
past en route to the train. The best tip I ever got
was from an old lady who
told me, Smile,
your breasts are as firm
as they’ll ever be.