I fixed on my numbers too soon.
Twenty-five years ago when the games began
They shone with the fire of algebraic proof
Flaming youth.
How could such six sure figures ever lose?
They never lost.
Just haven’t won.
If not this draw
Then the next next next next next next next.
All things come in their moment.
Once we won fifty-six dollars.
Why persist?
Money can’t help us.
We have enough.
Millions would only bedevil us with empty space of maybe.
Titanium chores, the black diamond.
Enough is enough.
Still we buy two tickets each week
Religiously
Too spooked to quit.
Wednesday, Saturday: “Honey, did you get them?”
Like doubtful Catholics off to Mass each week,
Sunday morning finds us blinking
Grudging faithful
At the communion rail.
Three coats of crimson brace our front door.
Feng shu’i couldn't hurt
But so many things could.
Flame poinciana out front
Pride and joy
Split by a boltage of September voltage.
“Two minutes sooner, it could have been you.”
It came out of nowhere.
It came from the blue.
There was nothing we could do.
Still we buy our chances
Religiously.
He leans them against a brushed gold frame
Like pictures of saints who
Were
But are not.
Saints null and void.
Saint Christopher still rides the dashboards.
How to kick fear from the heart?
Or hope?
It’s not done.
Too late, anyway.
Change, late remedy, now enemy.
Bolt your doors, people of the village!
Lie low!
It’s mad.
We have all we need.
A simple life of our choosing.
What more to ask?
What more?
Just
To live without losing.
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