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.
