Some futures wait
biding their time,
maturing, slowly fermenting,
allowing their aroma to herald their coming.
Forecasting, politely waiting for a welcome,
a by your leave,
an if you please,
gifting time to ready ourselves
despite their inevitability.

Some futures are more impatient
and crash in with an oblivious grin.
Uninvited, unwanted,
giving no hint of a fair warning.
They waltz right through,
all elbows and no grace,
treading on tender toes
as if they own the place.
They arrive unannounced
without the warning of a fanfare
and make themselves right at home
in your granddad's favourite armchair.
Throwing themselves down,
taking pride of place.
Showing no awareness
of how they dominate the space.
Bringing in their king kong odor
taking over all that we had built,
imposing their change
without the faintest sign of guilt.

And all we can do is make more room.
All we can do is hold on to each other.
And all we can do is build anew
and rebuild our lives into this forced future

and make it our own once more.

This is what friends, what families were designed for
For times of grief, for times of can't cope
A surrogate for God's loving arms
A foretaste of an eternal hope.