The Procrastinators

They're yakking, again, instead of working,
their passions expended in plans to remake
constructions long finished and dead;
they vie to build them larger, greater, faster

while their own project wilts neglected
—to its fate they're indifferent, even though
it hasn't yet met its fatal design flaw,
it's curious lack of care in workmanship.

But they'll grudgingly put their time in,
do the bidding of idiots in charge,
whose ambition is only themselves,
whose world is never their own.

They'll let the arguments go,
let them be settled
by the future,
where all disputes are resolved.