Poem Archaeology

I was digging through a file called poetry dump and I found this. Not my usual sort of thing, and perhaps a bit obscure, but what do you think?

Runes for a New Millennium

after Havamal, from the Poetic Edda

I pulled all-nighters
to get the job done.
Between the Java and the Red Bull
I learned fail-safe runes

Know how to google them,
know how to download them,
know how to code them,
know how to encrypt them.

The first rune I know
is unknown to agony aunts,
therapists, life-coaches, counsellors.
Quick-fix it is called.

I know a second, that street-wise dudes
must learn if they want to be cool.

I know a third; when the going gets tough,
this will give me the edge.
This will see off the competition.

I know a fourth: when the shit hits the fan,
this rune will make sure
that nothing sticks to me.

I know a fifth; when I go into the meeting
No matter who is on the board,
I always close the deal.

I know a sixth; if I choose to use it,
when the merger happens, I will keep my job;
My rivals will all lose theirs.

I know a seventh, more powerful than any.
With this I will keep my figure
as strong and slim at sixty
as I was at sixteen.

I know an eighth, a gift for drivers.
With this I can always find parking space.
I have no fear of tickets.

I know a ninth; I can charm
the young and talented and beautiful
to find me irresistible.
My lovers will never leave me.

I know a tenth; when conscience racks me,
I can send guilt and remorse packing.
There are no skeletons in my cupboards.

I know an eleventh; the paparazzi
Can get nothing on me.
No-one knows where my bodies are buried.

I know a twelfth, which I tell to no-one.
Age will make me good-looking.
Illness will be afraid to mess with me.
And death – what’s that all about?

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