there is no chance like the present
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 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 