DESTINY'S RIDE.

My job is to get him through the trials of childhood
Whilst his job is to stop me as habitually as possible,
And although there will only ever be one winner
It’s unlikely to be either one of us,

As fate can be a tricky supporter of all things irrational,
Even as the cast of characters it comes across changes
And ranges from the priceless to the paltry,
And is assaulted by chance’s red-handed dice;

Still my son and I have twice the opportunity to rewrite
The records whilst fighting this fickle business,
Consolidating our playable powers so that between
My experience and his tabula rasa we can win

Or maybe begin the process of wresting confidence
From the salty stinginess of probability’s fingers
And book our own slot on luck’s manifest
In time to lean keener over the thrower’s mat,

Or at least scream louder than the ladders
That smash glass every time they’re leant against
The windows of the pent house poker rooms
That have bloomed in the rooms where we once lived

And gave of our gifts to each other instead of having
Them snatched prematurely from us by fortune’s mood,
That has suddenly troubled him with a fever
That neither of us even saw coming.