
Evil’s here, close by
Its crypt-cold breath taunts hot skin
Watchers on the wall

Before we sleep now
Folded hands beneath bowed heads
Keeps the wolves at bay

In these darkest times
Superstitions comfort us
Lord, hear our prayer
Thanks to my Fitbit I’m just four pounds shy of my pre-Ireland trip weight loss goal. I’m not sure if the Irish will fully appreciate the lengths to which I’ve gone for my visit to their fair shores, but Fitbit seems proud of my efforts.
Just a couple of days ago the fine folks at Fitbit awarded me this prestigious badge. I’ve walked 1,600 miles since slapping the precocious pedometer on my wrist, a total equal to the length of Australia’s The Great Barrier Reef. Perhaps Studly and I should visit down under instead of Ireland.
We were so naive before the fall, having watched distant states dissolving from the safety of our
Shores. We sent thoughts, and prayers, and dollar bills, tsk tsking all the while. Nothing, though prepared us
For the shattering collapse, the heads rolling through the hallowed halls, their whispered names
On everybody’s lips. Perhaps those far flung states will reciprocate and send their thoughts, and prayers,
Coins of all the realms, as we resist the tide of tyranny with voices and with votes. Maybe it’s not too late.