Y₂K

The mechanical butterflies
flap their wings, it's raining
confetti, pop the cork
Dr. D,

       light the candles...

by the atomic clock, in
perfect asynchrony with
everything whole,

"No real finger on
the button, Mr. C -- oh, oh, o h ,
that Strangelovian Rag....."

     launch on warning...

its so predictable,

its so de///  //    /        /              / ?