Poem: "Against All Odds"

This one is another flight of fancy. It's interesting, though.

Against all odds,
Their bets, they've placed --  
They've doubled down 
On this race. 
They say it's in the genes, the breed, 
They're smellin money now. 
But the dark horse has some chase, OK,
And's in the race somehow. 

Somewhere in the owner's box 
Amid smoke of good cigars, 
A man who holds a scepter 
And can move stars 
Is smiling ear to ear, of course, 
He holds the betting sheet. 
He holds the bets and wishes of
The people we all meet: 
The cancer patient in her bed, 
The beggar on the street, 
The athlete with the shattered bone, 
The single mother all alone.

He holds their fates 
Like kids hold jacks
And’s known it this whole time:
Which horse will pull ahead, dead last,
And cross the finish line.