Not to have been born at all
Was never on the menu,
Oedipus. As you may recall
A little patience, a little tenue
Maybe waiving the right of way
And you would have stubbed
Through your day
Just fine. But you flubbed
Your road rage, buddy.
Not Jocasta’s error.
The queen could have studied
Her newborn’s terror
screaming down the shadowed halls,
then landed a knife in her hubby’s neck –
but here you are without eyeballs
waiting for the check
with your greatest hits behind you.
No regrets. Even in my brief
untidy life, I too
may come to taste similar grief.
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