it's a sinister sky.
look how low the clouds are,
like
blue knuckled fists
about to punch us.
what do they want out of us.
we try so hard
to live a good life.
what's with the floods,
the tornadoes,
the wild fires.
please dear lord, spare
us another earthquake,
or missed field goal.
and the traffic, while
you're at it, the freeway
is a mess every night,
my cat has a rash,
just to say in passing,
and if you have
the time I have this
lottery ticket, I could
use the number nine.
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