from this week in 1976 (I was 31)
It Don’t Need a Priority
The horse is attached to the cart,
impetus and payload.
Just because it ain’t overturned yet
don’t mean it won’t.
One hoof in a gopher hole
and there it goes like a thirty-year old bomb,
apples all over the road.
There it is; the crop is already sold.
Impetus and payload, what can happen will.
It don’t matter;
assuredly the broker is a dead man.
What’s left is what always was;
don’t it become humorous?
The inevitable cannot become more so.
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