Everything is—not perfect, but cosy
When suddenly there’s a big lurch
That you can’t explain
Or control.
At first you think, no worries,
We’ll be back on course in a moment.
But we aren’t.
Then more lurches, some big
Some small
And long stretches in between.
Waiting.
Thinking, can’t we just go back
To where we were?
Trying to work out how this could happen
While that other voice is saying
Forget it pal; we’re done here.
And then more waiting.
Wondering where this is leading.
Somewhere new and different, of course,
But how, exactly?
No way to know.
—December 2006