“LET’S FACE IT.” a poem, a.k.a.: “Life is Just Not The Nicest Thing in The World Sometimes.” October 2, 2019 (Wednesday)
Life is JUST NOT THE NICEST THING IN THE WORLD sometimes!
Sometimes, YOU are catapulted down a chute, and you have to FACE The World,
Even though, as far as you remember, you NEVER signed up for this expedition,
and you’re spanked, forced to stretch out, even though for 9 blessed months, you were comfortably curled,
In Your Mummy’s tummy, relaxing, watch TV and eating well,
And THEN you are asked (?): “Wouldn’t you like to come live in H – L L?”
Sometimes, Mummy & Daddy send you to bed with no dinner;
Sometimes, Your Preacher says: “Little J-Jay, you’re a big, ol’ sinner;
Sometimes, Your Teacher gives you an assignment Einstein would cry about;
Sometimes, Your Best Friend tells you, “We’re through,” and you wanna pout.
Sometimes, The Cops pull you over and give you a big, ol’ ticket,
Because you went too fast or did not “click it;”
Sometimes, gas prices increase so much, you wanna cry out loud;
Sometimes, you get agoraphobia, and you just GOTTA lose that crowd.
Sometimes, the BIG dog bites, the bee stings and you’re feeling sad,
And mean, ol’ Nancy Pelosi says “one o’ those things” that makes you really mad;
Sometimes, President Trump has a BAD DAY, and decides to “push the button,”
Blowing up The World, but THEN YOU HAVE ZERO WORRIES (right?)
Because there’s nut[h]tin’ ?
To be worried about any more, is there? because The World’s GONE.
Yet, LET’S FACE IT; perhaps, the Dreaded Don,
Can only blow up ONE WORLD, and there might be an infinite number,
Of WorldS, which we can visit, and this you know, ’cause, when you slumber,
You go to all sorts of exotic, unusual places and do strange things,
IMAGINATION HAS INFINITE POSSIBILITIES, and innumerable wings,*
So, therefore, without The World,
LIFE IS (simply) NOT THE NICEST THING, y’know,
And it doesn’t matter if you’re in The World or not; you might still have to go,
To: The Moon or Jupiter, Alpha Centauri or Major or Minor Canis;
Of course, I’d rather be abreast your Milky Way or Uranus.
- – like, you know, corridors like in an insane asylum.