325 • Like ostriches
It was back in the first days of Spring
You promised our plans would take wing.
Now that Winter is nigh,
Have we started to fly?
No. We haven’t accomplished a thing.
The finger of blame can always be relied upon to point at the nearest and/or dearest of the person on whose passive-aggressive hand it is growing. Still, this is better than pointing at ‘the year’ or ‘the virus’; though clearly the real blight on all our souls at this epoch is still festering moodily somewhere in the vicinity of the Oval Orifice.
2 thoughts on “325 • Like ostriches”
This rhyme is basically every human on the planet to 2020, the most convenient of scapegoats for its inability to talk back. Unless, of course, Covid was the threat, the warning and the retort.
Hi Patou,
Yes indeed, the biodeterminists would argue the latter, that the planet speaks to us through the virus. “1.46 million down, and counting,” is the message they revel in. I’m not so sure. Climate change is the ‘catastrophic organ failure’ in the making, I fear, and that will grimly reap far higher numbers. Whereupon the human race will be represented only by the plutocrats in their climate-controlled survival pods. Happy thoughts!
Yrs
Rick