WHILE ATTENDING THE ANNUAL

CONVOCATION OF CAUSE THEORISTS

AND BIGBANGISTS AT THE LOCAL PROVINCIAL

RESEARCH UNIVERSITY, THE MAD FARMER

INTERCEDES FROM THE BACK ROW

“Chance” is a poor word among

the mazes of causes and effects, the last

stand of these all-explainers who,

backed up to the first and final Why,

reply, “By chance, of course!” As if

that tied up ignorance with a ribbon.

In the beginning something by chance

existed that would bang and by chance

it banged, obedient to the by-chance

previously existing laws of existence

and banging, from which the rest proceeds

by the logic of cause and effect also

previously existing by chance? Well,

when all that happened who was there?

Did the chance that made the bang then make

the Bomb, and there was no choice, no help?

Prove to me that chance did ever

make a sycamore tree, a yellow-

throated warbler nesting and singing

high up among the white limbs

and the golden leaf-light, and a man

to love the tree, the bird, the song

his life long, and by his love to save

them, so far, from all machines.

By chance? Prove it, then, and I

by chance will kiss your ass.