In anticipation of later. I’m not a poet, but I am weary, so this is the best I can do.
A presidential election, a lockdown #2,
And newsworthy things that come late in the news.
He offers me a PX at the end of a tired week.
Just a drop, I say, as I really must sleep.
He pours and I pretend not to see
The generous glass filling up for me.
Too much, I say (knowing it’s too late).
(But at least we both know that I’ve said it’s too late).
And we clink and say cheers and we enjoy our charade.
And the news keeps on rolling,
And the numbers keep on rising,
And the world keeps on spinning.
And sometimes it’s too late.