The Hurricane and The Taskmasters
the ground left as muddy, the laundry as unfolded, the work as undone as the week before we found it.
not with a whimper, but a self-congratulatory pat on the back and deaf ears to those of us who had worked for it;
and the meddlers, or course, go on their high winds;
like a yawn that does not fill the lungs, or an aborted sneeze, or a television cliffhanger meant to prime viewers and producers for a newer season never to come;
how, indeed, must the folders feel now;
Yey, through force alone and naught a lick of strategy they blunder;
through what avenues does the hurricane wish to aid in laundry almost fully folded, and how must the fo