Perched upon my stool, at the Local Watering Hole, Contemplating the Mystery of Life, on an Average, Normally Wet Afternoon, in the Middle of Never…
Everything is uncertain
Except the weather – rain,
With a chance of more rain
Then maybe a monsoon
or a typhoon
thrown in for good measure in the afternoon
And curry – makes poop
It’s practically guaranteed!
And death – everybody does it, you know
(That’s a certainty you can count on).
Rain, curry poop and death are the only things I’m sure of.
(A poem from before, take two.)