It’s a funny thing

How the world doesn't end

But how it tries

Still everything is foreseeable, some say

And there is a pattern to these things,

Just as the way the milk swirls

Around the coffee cup

The solar system

Relaxes into it’s golden reel.

Even the very scene in this cafe

With its table and chairs

And newspaper

Dated December 1st

Are all part of predetermined plan

It’s cause enough

To make you hesitate

In shifting the pieces,

To lift up this cup even

Risks spilling some seed of fate

As outside clouds gather

And the street goes dark

And a rumble is followed by a moment's quiet

As people run for cover

Like extras in the changeover

Before the final act.