I will never understand those people you meet at funerals or parties, who tell you,
'There's no such thing as coincidence; everything happens for a reason, you know.'
Everything is rooted in coincidence, if you think on it.
Coincidence that some rock with a microbe on it hit the Earth,
And that the Earth could sustain it, unlike a million others just a few degrees of axism
That the single-celled Adam (really just a few atoms) would evolve for something-billion years
Until beings with art and pain and abstract thoughts arose,
Coincidence that your parents met,
And that you yourself exist rather than any other person,
Poor leftovers from countless combinations of DNA,
And that you ended up at this opressive funeral,
Picking apart a lump of cornbread and talking to me about coincidence.