I am an idealist. I see huge swathes of unfulfilled potential. I am confronted with an endless stream of possibilities — how beautiful. I recognize that most of the everyday whirled is ensconced in navigating probabilities — how practical. Still, I am fascinated with possibilities. The nexus of these two realm, possibility and probability, form for me an acute awareness of opportunity costs, the cost of choosing ordinary probability over extraordinary possibilities. I am both taunted and tantalized. Thus, this poem:
Opportunity Accost
Know madder
What we due
There is looming potential
Weave effaced
Hour live long daze
Haunted buy passibilities
Pregnant with awe
That is conceivable
A portentous bettor
On corporate shares
And heavy doody stakes
Vexing poetic just us
People verses
Mirror statistics
And every moment us
Victory for awe
Something more than
Just probability
As it turns out, I already wrote a poem entitled Opportunity Accost years ago; so, I added the [Number Two] to the title of this new poem — shit happens.
