Tomorrow is just another day, 

always there, even in May.

May I ask you to teach me

how to forgive myself, 

naughty elf on the shelf? 

Between eleven and twelve

I am waiting for Hope, 

nope, it is not just a trope, 

another slippery slope

like that time you used to be dope, 

All flowery, pink, cherry soap. 

Because I said it so, 

I need to go, for now, 

All black tie, no bow, 

no arrow either, childminder, 

you are not the Man-Spider, 

not even Spider-Man,

not now, not even back then. 

​

The old times are gone, 

forever lost, no more 

mail in the post, 

no more post office either, no,

they disappeared all in one go. 

And there we are, 

all of us just enough to make a car

full, last cohort of some 

extraordinary generation,

leaving you to watch us

in wonder, to ponder

what went wrong between then

and now. How

can you find out

that the world as you know it

is not here anymore. 

Alternate universe,

lacking some verse

reverse, inverse flash. 

No time, no cash. 

Sausage and mash. 

​

For tonight, we dine in

our own home, 

that majestic Dome, 

between the Second and Sixth. 

It can't be fixed.

Good night!

​

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​

​