THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS

Chicken little
You can't hold up the sky
If it's going to fall.
Centuries are written off
With the red ink of disaster
The worm takes a bite
From sunny mornings.
Maggots eat quiet evenings
As you innocently laugh with friend.
The despair of security:
It costs too much.
The quota must be taken.
Your house can still fall on you.
Electra crouches
Carlotta babbles
Jackie grabs a head that isn't there.
Sharon Tate can beg all she wants
It's the same sky.
It falls quick and clean
As a blade.

SF 1980