“When’s My Luck Gonna Change?” by Rob Carney

There aren’t enough miracles
to divvy up.
Sometimes
this frustrates the angels.
They’d like to build a motor
that rewinds chances, swing
a wrecking ball at the vertebrae
of bad luck,
but they aren’t industrial;
they just sing.
I’m not complaining. They’re nice hosts,
but what can they do?
Storms blast. The sky goes on.
They wish us well.