Last People on Earth

I saw this film, I Am Legend, a while back. It was okay. Thrills, chills--that sort of thing. It reminded me a lot of The Omega Man, with Charlton Heston. These "last person(s) on Earth" movies are mildly entertaining. The material might actually be better suited to the small screen, as in the old Twilight Zone series, because the story doesn't need to be drawn out and padded so much.

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The rest of the world must figuratively roll their eyes when they see cinematically that, yet again, the last person on Earth is an American guy living in a high-rise with lots of guns and groceries.

The Last People on Earth

If you and I were the last persons left

on Earth, someting in excess of terrible

shall have occurred. (Please note my

powers of deduction.) I assume we'd

be living like rats and have the cognitive

coherence of rabid skunks. That said,

I'd still be willing to celebrate your birthday

and nominate you for offices and awards of

your choosing. I might propose a moratorium

on strong opinions. As we tried to keep warm

(or cool), hide from predators, manage

hydration, sustenance, and hygeine, we might

eventually decide whether to revive the arts

in such forms as dancing, singing, and storytelling.

If you and I were the last persons left on Earth,

I'd be both the last and the first person to come to

for advice. Nothing personal, but I'd assume you'd

try to kill me eventually over something trivial.

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Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

Tiny Doctors

My wife came up with the term "tiny doctors," but I can't remember how or when. She may have been thinking of Elton John's song, "Tiny Dancer," and misspoke, but in any event, the term has been a source of humor in our family for quite a while. I took its silliness and ran with it into a poem, which turned out to be something of a Twilight Zone episode in short-poem form:

Tiny Doctors

Tiny doctors come down the street.
Their tiny white coats flare in sunshine.

Our neighborhood’s an ailment
they’ve come to diagnose.

Run away, we say to the tiny doctors,
this place cannot be cured.

They do not listen. They are tiny
determined doctors. They’ve brought

their training with them. They
surround our symptoms. We

lock them up in basements,
one by one. Tiny doctors, so

surprised, very captive. We treat
them well but keep them, poor

tiny doctors, poor miniature,
misplaced physicians.

Copyright 2007 Hans Ostrom