One Small Zinger

You buy some tickets, make some plans,
Anticipate an outing
But always with an asterisk
For naturally, you’re doubting…

‘Cause life throws curve balls and you can’t
Be looking for straight pitches.
“The best-laid plans,” the saying goes,
Are filled with unknown glitches.

And so you cancel, with a shrug,
The strikeout one small zinger,
As fate delights in pointing
With its well-known fickle finger.