The Lottery


Woke to our hearing fireworks, the day the lottery was born, but saw nothing, the sun already having risen.


That afternoon we bought tickets, dripping with luck, and walked up through the rec. and the graveyard


and down to the river, secret and elated, counting our stash. That night we watched as someone else’s luck came in,


and next week, next week was when we found that car-struck dog outside the Claude, the one whose convulsive little body


I picked up and placed to die in the gutter, its two eyes popping out like something being surprised in Disney.


Conditioner Now the blonde is growing back after the small disaster of brunette, which means you’ll be in bloom in time for spring. See,


by the bath, ‘Autumn Rêve’ is being crowded-out, and ‘Party Girl’ and ‘On the Town’ are being upturned and squeezed again. All things


gutter and go out, then come round in a different light, or, as the blusher put it to the pot of glitter,


if the shoots are showing through, how long the full-on curling tongs, pink Stetsons, Dusty Springfield songs?


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