on my walk to work,
The warm light calling; the red halting,
as I once more jump these tracks,
bundled in long down, fake fur and mitts fingerless.
A mile more and I’m in the haze;
Dreading my cubicle cage when I think,
As office workers are apt to do,
“If only I were rich and didn’t have to…”
And then I thought of how it would be to hit the lottery.
“But you never play.” I say out loud.
Ten steps more.
A cast off card before my feet,
Hastily scratched it appears,
No lucky numbers.