Oh aye, here we go.
2025.
New Year, it says, embrace me.
New you say?
I take in the tag still intact (oh)
on the collar of its Columbo-style Mac,
u-huh, you’re the real deal,
but what hand do you hold for me this time?
2024 had its charms, sure, but I shall not forgive
nor forget falling for it like a snitch wearing a made to measure
concrete overcoat with aplomb and a plum in mouth that eve;
One sharp nudge into January’s docks . . .
and I was stitched up like a kipper;
but oh, oh, those wee few minutes before the chimes,
still firmly ensconced within the year before,
perched at least on relatively solid ground,
the finale of 2023, no more surprises left,
wise to the horrors before,
yet warmed by the already toasty
nostalgia of odd beautiful occasions,
sprinkled hours of love and affection,
minds meeting minds in madness and laughter
between the fears and tears . . . despite it all, wait . . .
Look up! We saw the tawdry promises of 2024
blooming through the fireworks
as the dog howled curses under the divan.
and of a sudden, the glamour of it all darling!
The bloody hope!
I became really rather quite enamoured of that new year;
beguiled even, fluttering eyelashes at
all the pure, damn shiny possibilities
the bugger flashed at me,
mackintosh akimbo revealing the future bright
(potentially giddy and obscene)
surely things would get better, for how could they possibly
garishly decay and shatter much more?
2024, the assassin, dancing, twirling me
across the eternal dance floor,
waist clasped tight, whispering gorgeous summer days,
hours of easy love, the peace and contentment
only a few weeks of boredom and no social media can supply…
pretty lies all over again, to force us all forward,
fools that we are . . .

No, wait . . .  this year is different, special
I’m told, for 2025 it is a square year!
a perfect square year is the square of 45: 45 x 45
perfect square years are true rarities, the last 1936;
a celebration of the elegance and harmony of numbers,
a demonstration of how mathematical patterns
can be seen in the real world!

Well, in that case . . .

Fuck it, lets rush the bastard.

Happy New Year!!