Tyrant of Doldrums

Command and control, command
And control—how much, day’s end,
Is controlled by your commands?

There’s enough correlation.
There’s always a little fear.
A mongoose family scraps

For power and position
And some die. Some are exiled.
Some of the exiled then die.

Some find a new clan and breed,
And raise successful litters
Who’ll fight for themselves one day.

There’s no clear chain of command
To status in mongoose clans.
Teeth and claws serve for control,

Plus intermittent grooming.
Would you mind if we asked you
Which you would prefer? Command

Or a lovely, fictional
Feeling of proper control?
We thought so. But there’s no choice.

You may command as you like.
That you can have. Consequence,
Correlation, lies, and fear

Will help you to fill your sails.
But if the wind dies, it dies.
You’ll beg the world, keep spinning.