The Farrago Choice

Photo by Ikon Republik on Pexels.com

It’s a farrago, a hotpotch,
Call it what you will;
Choosing never did attract me,
I am counting chickens still.

For lately I have lost all faith
In making a prudent choice;
I’ve given up decisions,
Conscious I’ve lost my voice.

It fell apart whilst doodling,
It lost its wobbly way;
I never could abide its cheek,
Its soul was out to play.

For when it comes to choosing
Between two guilty factions,
I’d rather plunge my head in sand,
Yield, then bemoan my inactions. 

Some may think this refers to my given right to vote in all elections . . .  They may be right!