Wednesday, April 03, 2024

Socialist Sonnet No. 142

Mistake is Mistaken


The clichéd own goal, that’s a real mistake,

As is trusting a sunny day without

A rain coat, and glibly suspending doubt

While listening to a politician’s take

On almost any issue. Alongside

Lottery tickets being the route to wealth,

That inebriation’s concealed by stealth

Arriving home late at night. Try to hide,

Though, with apologies and thin regrets,

The deliberate launching of missiles

At an aid convoy, must defy the wiles

Of those who’re in command and sent the jets.

A claim to mere error is to forsake

Any real meaning of the word, mistake.


D. A.

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