Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #486

This Year
by Belinda Roddie

This year can die in the following ways:
By dagger, sword, or other kind of blade;
by going down in an infernal blaze;
by choking on a turkey bone or spade
for gardening; by forgetting to wear
a face mask and contracting its own plague;
by getting devoured by a wolf or bear
or rabid animal out of its cage;
by nuke or missile or by rocket ship
so it is shot into the fucking sun;
by falling from a tub, breaking its hip,
and getting a massive hot infection.
But perhaps most appropriate is this:
this year can die by guillotine. Chef's kiss.