the future hangs over
everything I do
like a weight
an anvil, say
around my neck
or a cloud
a rain cloud
overhead
like some cartoon character
moving quickly forward
while a storm brews
the weight slowing my scurrying
toward shelter
though there is no shelter
apparent to me
on this, or any, horizon
oh well
what else to do
but stumble on
going forward
toward what can only be called
an uncertain future
the only place left
to go