Squirrels on a Wheel

Yesterday and tomorrow are rough enough
and tomorrow and tomorrow will be rougher.
It is sometimes the way of my world
that straight or curved paths whirl
into a new reality of varieties of nonsense
sometimes coalescing into pretend sense
mostly to the left and twice to the right
for a hundred years or so
and then, again, around we go.
You can't keep the same pair of dice all night.
We mostly dance in patterns of hope
from minus to "maybe we can cope."
In my favorite world
it is not best to be a squirrel.