There’s a real possibility 
that the Tesla in front of you
runs a red light, drifting into 
the intersection like a yacht
through a lock after its owner 
paid a bribe for faster passage,
entitled to ignore the law. 

There’s also an actual chance
the bucket with a stool sample
you shipped next-day by UPS
will show you have colon cancer,
or the semen packed in dry ice 
and flown overnight by FedEx 
to a lab in Massachusetts 

for DNA analysis
reveals you can’t be a father
using your own fragmented genes. 
Most of the time, we live our lives
naïve to these odds. Hurricanes
could make landfall on our city,
a wildfire might engulf our home.

So many fates to consider
in the band of uncertainty.
If we ruminated on them,
how would we find time to eat lunch,
take a shower, or talk with friends? 
The universe we occupy
includes no more than what happens.

Still, there’s a nonzero prospect
that one unblemished sperm merges 
inside a healthy egg, the two
making a child new to the world;
or that no malignant polyp 
will ever trouble your body;
your house is spared from fire or flood. 

But this forecast is incomplete.
I’m compelled to mention the man
on the ballot for election,
a would-be despot. If he wins
(almost a 50 / 50 bet)
his plans for the country result
in blight on our shared principles. 

Given the risk, I implore you:
don’t overlook the likelihood
of him running away with it. 
The stakes are evident enough. 
Prepare for an unlucky break. 
Maybe he’s got in his pocket 
the folks who are meant to stop him.