Brian Fink invited an all-star lineup of poets to end 2020 with a little “poetry salvo.” By a slip of the thumb, he included me on the list. This was my entry.

 pridie kalends

The masses do not mourn the passing year. 
As if a calendar could circumscribe 
their suffering, they celebrate and cheer 
this orbit’s end (and heavily imbibe). 

Our planet now returns to take its place 
by Two-Faced Janus (though I’m told that’s wrong— 
it’s savage Juno’s month. Her only face 
is cruel and unappeased by drink or song). 
 
Like Sisyphus’s boulder, we spin back 
to where we started, only to begin 
our plodding pace around our starry track, 
until we make our homeward turn again,

      those lesser gods, each time- and season-bound,
      mere passengers with us on this great round.