My galaxy is spinning round
with starry tendrils sliding by
It seems to turn so very fast
against the inky dark-brown sky

A group of bubbles huddle near
the centre of the swirling mass
Rotating slowly ― like fish eyes
that leer as murky waters pass

And then the bubbles coalesce
until just one twirls all alone
A black hole lurking there inside
to gobble all within its zone

Inexorably the spinning slows
The Milky Way now indistinct
And Central Bubble pops, to leave
just spiral arms by handshake linked

At last those arms just fade away
The End of Time must have occurred
since everywhere is smooth light brown
That’s good ― it means my coffee’s stirred


© Oliver Wright

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