Deep and dark December

All political lives … end in failure, because that is the nature of politics and of human affairs.
Enoch Powell on Joseph Chamberlain 1977.

It’s not just political 
lives end in failure. Heroic 
battle with the cancer lost,
one more push over the top,
a euthanized pet tossed
with clinical waste; failure 
to thrive is no loss of face,
a flash of light and then the grave,
moments we might save
in picture frames: dog, blanket,
breakfast news feeds to explore.
On TicToc, Facebook, YouTube 
memes and jokes, Nigel Farrage
as Robespierre: Tom Paine chokes.
Seventy Sixers, Yankee, 
Flyers, Patriots and Chiefs,
Amerixit, Alamo, 
Cajun east of New Orleans.
Generations furled like we’ve been flung
under the wheel of the world.

Folding up cardboard 
boxes for the bin,
take out trash, 
bring it back in 
like a rock up a mountain
rolls down again:
there are twelve 
cruel months.

Quantum place is randomised,
captured and solidified,
gravity enough to say 
there are many worlds between us.
The superset of particles
ringing in the atoms
of the church bells flinging 
out galaxies in symmetry.
Two states with the power of doubling
somewhere in the folds of time.

The odds of slipping away 
in surrender to pleasure
where I live forever?
Infinitesimally fine.