after Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
this coyness, Cindy, were no crime.
But life is nasty, brutal, short,
and wanton gods kill us for sport.
The doomsday clock is ticking down;
a missile’s aimed right at your town.
You may, the recent tabloids say,
by accident most any day
be poisoned by a mutant toad.
The sun might nova and explode;
a falling safe could crush your head.
See what I mean? You’re good as dead.
You’re quickly running out of luck.
We’d better hurry up and fuck.