Three die each year in America
having stood on ring pulls
long buried and gone rusty.

Eight people eat cottage cheese
which disagrees with them

Five get stung
in the eyes
never to recover.

More than a dozen people
meet their maker
having underestimated olives.

Two of us will die
as a consequence
of inhaling confetti.

Dear Lord
whatever your form or apparent instinct
protect me from unusual outcomes.

From coincidences
suitable for reporting
on local news stations.

From the sad but true stories of others
which result in being memorialized
as a statistical anomaly.

Save me from death via ill-luck
hubris or random fucking folly
if at all possible.

Hereby do I beseech you
as a somewhat cynical hedge
against the outside chance of your existence.


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