Sure, flying out of a window sees death ahead
and legend tells us the end will be painful –
some fucker always puts a flagpole in the way.
But if you smash it with a computer
or throw your co-worker’s chair
careful not to trip over the boss
bending over his secretary’s cleavage as she types …
… you still won’t get very far.
The day will kick you in the balls
and leave you breathless, wounded
wishing you’d never got out of bed.
So better take a holiday –
If you’re lucky, the rope will hold
and you’ll live to fall another day.
I discovered later the poem is a fine modernist poem by Rolf Jacobsen and has been variously translated as 'Guardian Angel'