Poetry from Stephen Bruce

With Notes of Irony

Call it dogged by bad luck.
Call it a fool’s prophecy.
Call it fate lighting a cigarette
after it fucks you in the arse.
Call it an albatross around your neck.
Call it an ancestral curse.

Blame it on crossing paths with a black cat.
Blame it on your astrological sign.
Blame it on the neighbour who dabbles
in witchcraft. Blame it on the devil.
Blame it on your treacherous spouse
for opening an umbrella
inside the house. Blame it on a bad penny.
Blame it on a broken mirror.
Blame it on the politician you elected.
Blame it on old age.
Blame it on the youth of today.

Say to yourself you deserve it all.
Say it with gusto.
Say it’s one giant goat rodeo.
Say it’s too late to turn it around.
Say it while donning the paint of a tragic clown.
Say it with self-entitlement.

But for pity’s sake, never say
it’s the sum of your choices.