October 15, 2025

I've wandered lonely as a cloud,

Been ignored by the teeming crowd,

Longed for a friendly face

In this most desolate place.

"Get a move on," the guards growl,

"You with your verse most foul."

I shimmy away to avoid a clash

Wondering how I channel Mr. Nash.

To hide a point in sing-song rhyme

Seems a most ring-wrong crime.

But knowing that power is obtuse,

Sanctuary hides in the dress of a chanteuse.

"Nothing to see here" your sentry will announce,

Unknowingly their duty now renounced.

Now's the best time for a warning so rash,

Pull out your notebook and channel Mr. Nash.

The old mopey dope odist will be lost

Among the detritus of media exhaust,

Omen obscured by the latest distraction,

Response obliterated by inaction.

"Stand and be counted," your turnkey orders:

While everyone retreats to their quarters,

Throw on your cap 'n bells, tie your sash,

All of us need be channeling Mr. Nash.