To Whom The Cap Fits Poem by Mary Champion

They're the unwitting instruments of Sod,
sent to annoy me by God,
to ensure, without malice or skill,
if a thing can go wrong then it will.

With an uncanny absence of aim
their actions will screw up my game,
oblivious of all they have done -
overshadow my place in the Sun.

Without any purpose or plan,
I know they will do all they can
to f**k up my heart's true desire
and leave me face down, in the mire.

They're the unwitting instruments of Sod,
sent to frustrate me by God -
a God, who has seemed so inept
in the past has, for once, proved adept.