“Born Under a Bad Sign” by Christine Bode


Born Under a Bad Sign

A poem by ©Christine Bode 2023

At the top of your business trade, pre-pandemic
Now you’re back at the beginning while inflation is endemic

Starting over now when most folks think about retiring
Feeling sorry for yourself is so ridiculously tiring

There’s nothing you can do about happenstance
Bank account screams six dollars and ninety-four cents

Coulda, shoulda, woulda, there’s no going back
No matter how hard you try, there’s always something you lack

A thousand things to learn, another thousand things to do
And no one is gonna feel sorry for you

You’ll work every weekday, weekend and holiday too
And one day, you’ll have enough to buy those new shoes

Just fake it ‘til you make it; if everyone does it, it’s no lie
Eventually, you’ll get there, so don’t take the time to cry

You’ll work until noon on the day that you die
‘Cause you’re born under a bad sign, waxing gibbous moon in the sky

Leave a comment