To be fair, the horses never stood a chance.
Chide the novice journalist for his frivolous poetic turn, and
focus instead on the men, learned, presumably, qualified
to succeed at this the most seemingly crucial
of reconstruction projects.

Convene again the learned minds, and begin the root cause analysis
(an expansive list of scapegoats and red herrings), and point
to causes vaguely while reciting the most cloying monologue
from your favorite romantic comedy. But strike through

fragility is an unacceptable excuse, because
nothing not fragile is worth writing rhymes about;
nothing not fragile is worth fixing.

Point less-vaguely towards complacency. After
years of chewing gum and duct tape repairs,
their wrenches had rusted in tool sheds,
and so Humpty died, a victim of gravity
and oxidation.

And clearly, he was out of place. Eggs and
ledges do not combine. There was likely signage
pictorially representing what we scoff at, never
fear, until we, vivacious, oblivious, enliven
those crude, black on yellow icons.

Chide the novice poet for moralizing, but

there is nothing you can say
to the invincible collective, prior, and now
it would be crass, so stay quiet and lament
that the most fragile among us don’t keep to lower ledges
even after we fall victim to failure, inevitable
and universal as children’s rhymes.