Repent, you sinners, before being caught up

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With no idea of destination
in a lonely busstop
on a frozen bench with
"bench ad works"
I lean for hours
waiting for a bus
on a double holiday.

Who is howling in to my ears,
a bear?
a chance here
or a wild fox?

A small tornado
unpredicted by the forecasters
an unwelcome guest
like a cobra
in an emptied house
stares at me
whirls in a destructively high speed
and sweeps the earth in no time.

Ash and foamy white
turns silver
up it goes like a temple fireworks.

And on the bottom
in white and black
floats a paper
grabbed from the busstop
"repent you sinners,
repent
before Being Caught Up."