Dorianne Laux
What are the chances a raindrop
from last night's storm caught
in the upturned cup of an autumn leaf
will fall from this tree I pass under
and land on the tip of my lit cigarette,
snuffing it out? What are the chances
my niece will hit rock bottom before Christmas,
a drop we all long for, and quit heroin?
What are the chances of being hit
by a bus, a truck, a hell-bound train
or inheriting the gene for cancer,
addiction? What good are statistics
on a morning like this? What good
is my niece to anyone but herself?
What are the chances any of you
are reading this poem?
---------------------------Dear men,
whom I have not met,
when you meet her on the street
wearing the wounds that won't heal
and she offers you the only thing
she has left, what are the chances
you'll take pity on her fallen body?
Dorianne Laux
from The Book Of Men
(Norton 2011)
