The Big Crunch

I imagine what the last day of the universe will be like the one they call the Big Crunch— the world and all the stars explode, disappearing in a giant black hole—

With sirens blaring and lights flashing, and solemn civil defense announcements before the President of the World gives a short inspirational speech—

I hope the universe itself would send some sign— God’s billboard flashing an alert on the cosmic highway as if children or seniors were missing in cars, or a giant hand piercing the sky and clouds parting in thunder and light.

Next, the moon will explode sending the seas overhead and the sun flare white then red then black.

I might feel hot or cold or perhaps feel nothing— all of existence pressed and ground down into one dark spot like a single coffee grind at the bottom of your empty cup.