2 Odds Are

ODDS ARE

by Eric Chaet

Odds are my efforts will be wasted
my name forgotten
or false stories about me will be my immortality
odds are I’ll die from not being paid
as required by the rules of the games most others are playing
while those who pose as tho they’re doing what I do
will take & waste all the rewards
I’ll have no influence among the classes
none of whom recognize me as one of them
whether in Lithuanian, Polish, or Black Chicago neighborhoods
or downtown, in the Loop, Near North clubs & shops
or among the Northsiders & commuters from the suburbs
or those who live or were raised in Philadelphia, Dallas, or L.A.
London, Sydney, Manchester, Melbourne, Toronto, Winnipeg
Minneapolis, Mumbai, Delhi, Karachi, Lagos, Accra
or on the Navajo or Ho-Chunk reservations
stoically perseverating farmers or fishermen
or factory or foundry hands
Manhattanites naively proud of their sophistication
tenured professors, software designers, biotech engineers
accountants, those who place bets on this or that enterprise
professional soldiers, Washington bureaucrats
among youths to come unaware I ever existed
that the influence I have among those of my contemporaries
paying various degrees of attention
will be overwhelmed by the influence of fear & greed
& what almost everyone else is almost always saying
& acting on, as tho it’s true
odds are my lack of focus will do me in
my lack of perseverance, my efforts’ lack of structure
inattention to my hair & clothes
long bouts of gloomy indecision
taking personally the slights
of those who don’t like my name or address
or that I present myself without awe before them—
odds are when I’m sick or injured
those who might help me will misunderstand what I need
& neglect or punish me for behaving strangely
thereby challenging their daily & life-long efforts
to appear normal
odds are I won’t realize my vision—
but I defy the odds, & tho already old
prepare, study, exercise, practice
alert not to strain too far & therefore break
demanding more of myself than anyone I know or know of
demands or expects of me or of themselves—
tho many are as busy as I am, busier even
driving themselves like slaves to produce, to perform
unable or unwilling to evaluate the ultimate effect
& can’t imagine what I’m doing
the results of which they are unable to perceive.

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Picture: Ken B. Miller