Hmph

Sometimes the schedule, as I live it, sucks.
What I desire's not what I can do
And all that I experience I rue.
Sometimes the world unlines all of my ducks,
Committing them unto their several lucks
In noncolinear space, with only two
(As two must be) in any line. I knew
That this was possible, but still, who fucks
With someone like that, Nature? And why me?
But more, why anyone? Why must mere chance
Motivated by Perversity,
That awful imp, and by his deep romance
With human suffering, make fools of planners?
It seems a breach of all (in)human manners.