Formula: Eventually, You Press Your Shoulder Against the Inertia of the World

Chet ate lunch at his desk one day.
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He read over population figures
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For a year in which he would be gone.
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He penciled out some easy math.
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Twice the wars? Double the famine?
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“I’m glad I’m dead,” he said,
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Drinking diet pop, eating veggie burgers.
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Editor of the company newsletter,
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He wondered about the new health benefits meeting announcement
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Because Chet wanted a packed house.
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“Ah, hell,” he thought.
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“Finish your lunch before you worry about that.”