Since I was eight, I waited for the day
Just twenty-eight morns and evenings away
You'd have beat my hope with your Doomsday refrain
Seventh October, I thought we'd end in rain

It's so easy to scare a child, scare yourself
Seeing only cancer agents on your shelves
The Y2K bug's the latest cottage trade
We'll need gas masks, so as not to choke on Raid™

Does anyone know how many shopping days
Til the day that's lost in this neurotic haze?
From Seattle to London, this fête's too grand
While Arnie's making humanity's last stand

Then on the second, I'll still waste for the six
It won't be a hovercar, no future tricks
Just an urban planning dud, computer voiced
That's never on time; makes walking the best choice

And in another K, we'll do the Doomsday dance
We'll be quaking in our replicated pants
Asking ourselves and the stars, "What's to come of us?"
While I sit bitching about the number 6 bus

© 1999 Bruce V. Bracken