Joy in the age of apocalypse

When our infected unloved bodies collapse on an empty street in a deserted part of the world, we will laugh like Zorba laughed at the collapse of the mine. Swans will roam the canals of Venice, gold fish will appear in the Thar desert, flamingos will walk the pink streets of Jaipur. We will see men we loved buried underground with their wives, we will say goodbye in unknown tongues to children we will never have, we will burn our parents’ bodies in hazmat suits. We will not live long enough to pluck even the unripe mangoes. We will dance in the empty Louvre on a Cuban song till the police come to pick our corpses. We will kiss Mona Lisa on the mouth.