My hands are on the steering wheel,
the car is parked,
my music plays in the background
interrupting my stream of thoughts.
A blast of cold from the air conditioner
and a shadow approaches on the left.
He is simple.
He is not for want in his head.
He is a house painter, so says his shirt.
A shiny lottery ticket appears in his hand
and he raises his reading glasses to his eyes.
He carefully draws a penny out from his pocket
and carefully scratches off the numbers on that card.
That teasing, shiny card.
His face is neutral as he puts the card in his pocket
and gets into his car.
No win.
No loss.
But one must always have something to hope for
and for today,
it's gone.
I leave the lot before he can,
glad I didn't play
the Lottery.
Author notes
It's been a while since I've chosen not to rhyme in a poem, but I didn't think it would suit the topic I've written about. This actually happened today and I witnessed this. I just found this so ironic and such a great metaphor for life I had to write it down and keep it somehow. I would appreciate any comments given. Thank you!
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