So we clock the next Gregorian notch
And reset our lot to resolutely futile
Promises, albeit just as well-intended
As last year’s sentimental whimsy –
As if resolve appears with perfect
Purchase only on the calculated year’s
Last day; as though all others be ill-suited
To self-betterment or harm’s arrest
Because no other day is good for stopping
Smoking, drinking, eating less and exercising
More. And no one’s ever bored by all the
Empty, drunken declarations or the stone
Cold sober tokens, are they?
Why gesture yearly, merely for tradition’s
Pressure just to fall in measure to a herded
Fashion? All that well-meant passion, fleeting;
All that cheated rationale…
Well, bugger that!
But for the want of a perilous crutch, to your
Own drum be tuned – there are much better
Waves to catch.