in not wanting to have their eyes pennied
and/or a bone shown broken to the open air
praying for their lucky stars to shoot...
we remain such gluttons
for the generous threat of being
supreme to a man mold maker with a tendency
toward the more dramatic side of everything
flattered i'm sure,
and what does modern child mistakenly chalk up
to the humongous homogenous win column of god
the swapping of a dearest dead pet for a fresh one...
finding someone else's wallet or say, a snow day
threatening their lucky stars to shoot