GODS ONCE

As always, we don’t know
what’s coming
or when, but we prepare

for rain and cold
with odds in our favor.
There is no election,

no debate, no polls.
The fickle gods
write their own rules

and grin like hell
when we object
to their unfairness.

We were gods once
when we were children
with scraps of wood

and leaves for sails
cheering ships
floating down a furrow.