pretty much fucked

The lotto.

We have a super sixteen,
And the eight ball syndicate.

He hands me a photo copy of the tickets.

This

is the one,
He says,
Good numbers –
Lucky ones.

“they tried to charge me
Ten cents a page for the
Photocopies.”

Old mate jay,
With hands that
Are bloated and bumpy with
Gout and athritus.

Ten cents, he murmers,
One more time,
Rubs his hands together
Ten cents.

…these are the one benny boy.

The lucky numbers.

I look up at the bookie screens,
Take a good slug of beer,
Look back at old man jay,
And his broken hands.

Lucky numbers,
Shit.

My friend
I think, that we
Are
fucked.