Fate's Upper Hand


Fate’s Upper Hand
Poet ID Number: Y0031345
At 93, my Time nearly spent,
wondering where it all went,
I hear this worldly content
come loose about me, bent

Around my separate agonies,
set me right in that squeeze
from nodding head to knees;
song’s, ‘We do as we please.’

The virus, this covid 19 panic
came blast, damnable quick,
it spilled in thunderous pick
among the hale and derelict.

Among nations of the world
a searching probe unfurled;
no target left that’s uncurled.
this terror speed-ball hurled

into middles of men at arms
heedless of almighty charms’
nor our cities, or dairy farms
alert at first to their alarms.

Make a rhyme, make a rhyme,
choose something for this time,
take it past globe’s simple crime,
this wide horror’s deadly prime.

Insert a twisted bit of humor, too;
it’s the only thing quite like the flu.

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