The Third Thing (Poetry)

Generally, things come along in threes —
triples are a natural rule of thumb —
like corporation buses as we wait
the winds of change whistling round our knees —
we fidgit — apprehensive of our fate
and vacillate from cheerful through to glum.

The future’s full of corners — always blind
the prophecy of trios half-believed —
we worry at the concept — try to guess
what’s coming up ahead and what’s behind
the ominous suspicion — all the stress
of hoping that base instinct is deceived.

We cannot dodge — we cannot run and hide —
whatever’s on the cards will find us out —
the fickle finger points and luck will run
whichever way, despite how hard we’ve tried
avoiding it — these chained events still come
along in threes — and doubt.