Saturday, December 31, 2016

Sonnet for the New Year

Two thousand sixteen was a stupid year,
A year of bad decisions and of votes
For liars, bullshitters, and randy goats,
Time for the fatheads, drinking too much beer
And talking too much trash, for gloom and fear,
A year of oily varnish in six coats,
Of falsity with dark, repulsive notes,
Of emptiness displayed in high-tech gear.

I only hope two thousand seventeen
Is no worse. I don't have enormous hopes
For this or any other year. One copes,
One listens to the news, one isn't keen
On promises, on fresh displays of spleen.
Let's just survive this round. We're on the ropes.


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