shit luck

I sometimes wonder

if there’s any luck at all,

or if people inherit it from

long lost Uncles and Aunts

on their way out.

a large portion of life is luck

luck of the draw

luck of the game

lucky number seven

I haven’t seen any of it

just the small portion that

keeps me breathing.

If I had it, I wouldn’t know what to do

with it anyway. I suspect it’s hard keeping

all that luck in line. the effort must be back

breaking.

But I still wonder what it’d be like to

wake up in the morning and not have to

wait for the shit to hit me on the chin.

I’ll take a walk and step in a pile of crap.

bend over and throw my back out. find five

bucks in the street and get hit by a car. tie my

laces and cut my finger on the thread. it’ll get

infected and I’ll try to smile.

I suppose there’re others like me. I see them on the

street every day like flies on rotten fruit, shooting

up with dirty needles and begging for change on the

off-ramp.

. . . maybe there’s a little luck after all.