imagine the hard-luck man, brown
from drink and tobacco, reaching for the pencil
to check off the keno numbers, then dropping
his dollars on the moment when the TV screen will show
his fate: lose or win, it’s a great moment while he’s waiting.
or picture the son of the same man, cracking the books
and studying for the physics exam, mind slipping toward
the tabs in the bottom of his sock drawer, calculating
what he can take, how long he’ll be flying, equations,
formulas, and what time can he spare from the one
before he must give time to the other? deciding, he falls
in love with the notion that luck is with him now and always.
for the next door neighbor, it’s all good. the cats
won’t eat her for at least a day yet. she lies on the floor
and luck holds the swinging door closed against their yowling needs.
in the moment before they push hard enough she is most beautiful,
face at peace, hands at rest, quite still inside at last.
there is no chance like the present. better still,
there is no chance except the present. the moment
of waiting. of all best worlds existing at once. of luck
being not a possibility, but a birthright. of life and death
and remission and subterfuge in the name of happiness.
of the dice coming up divine everytime.
Dark Matter 