Unlikelihood

Most of what’s labeled as magical
Thinking’s just highly implausible—
Wild optimism, most often,
Occasionally overwrought dread.

How many actually fantasize
About a literal miracle,
Daydream of waking younger each day
Or sudden end to all suffering?

You’re shrewd enough to mostly steer clear
Of any claims too much magical.
Damn few hope at a tent revival
For lost limbs or white wings to appear.

Deities and afterlives remain
More popular, since they can’t be checked,
And the faithful know they can’t be checked,
And so don’t mind they can’t be confirmed.

Sudden returns of health, sudden wealth,
Moreover, aren’t even magical.
They’re vanishingly rare, but they’re there.
People recover. People get rich.

You won’t. Past minor fluctuations,
Better than how you felt yesterday,
More income than you’ve made last decade,
You understand that you’re a long shot,

Don’t you? But it happens. You can wish
For complete remission, you can wish
For an unearned, enormous windfall.
That’s not magical, unlikelihood.