Hades' Lens

A chinless drunkard drove as Hades’ lens
Focused on three tadpoles in a dish.
The First was stationed in a Mercedes Benz,
The Second melted wax and made a wish
That life would always deal the ace of hearts,
To give potential anguish midget odds.
It walked outside to think of brand-new starts,
As the Third, the drunkard, smiled at the Gods.
Or god, who watched the tadpoles swimming closer,
With wriggling less scattered and more tenacious,
They were converging on a dot. The First, the poser,
Slowly stalked the streets, an ostentatious
Gesture aimed at amplifying ego,
With speakers clouding every other noise.
The Second heard singing nearby: “Key largo, Montego…”
Laughed and yelled to the First: “Beach boys! Beach boys!”
The ice was broken. The tadpoles linked their tails
Within the dish. The third one bowed its head,
And set a collision course to hammer nails
In their coffins, putting three more souls to bed.