Most of us regret our mistakes, but Wexler's speaker says the real trouble lies elsewhere: you're about to make them all again, and this time you know exactly what you're doing. The logic is wry and a little reckless. You survived the first round, so why not tempt fate? Besides, who can really tell a mistake from its opposite? Maybe repeating them will even turn out right, "without even trying."
The tone is casual and teasing, like someone talking themselves into a bad idea and half enjoying it. The short lines and slipping, run-on sentences give the thoughts a tumbling, careless momentum. But the ending changes the mood. The final warning about "that one in a million mistake" that finishes you "for good" arrives quietly, and it lands hard. The speaker's bravado turns out to be hiding a real fear. The poem is funny on the surface, but it leaves you thinking about how thin the line is between resilience and recklessness.