“Alas, who may trust this world”
Fortuna, unstable as the moon’s phases
Luke an unbalanced wheel’s uncertain moment
Chance and mutability and inconstancy
Cast me here
No, there is no faithfulness in this world
How decidedly a professional identity
Dissolves and you are left
My parents’ generation was set for life
I bought the false promise, too
Not for us, not for me
We eke out a mean existence in a mean world
Grab ahold of a fragment of solace
For as long as it will last
Fall, fail, pick up the pieces
Pick up yourself to try to manage
Another day, week, year, decade, life
Will the world turn for me
Fortune favor my fragment of solace
Land me on my feet again?
Or is my lesson here
In these straightened circumstances
Is there profit here?
In this loss
The recession in this micro-economy that was my life
What is lacking that I am not happy?
David Fekete 