Lottery of life

If I
were to win
eighty-seven million
tomorrow night
I honestly wouldn’t know
what to do with it all

(Or at least
not beyond
the first two hundred
grand or so).

My big win
would be
a simpler world
where I could get by
without needing
so much as a twenty

And just be left alone


So –

what kind of odds
would you give me
on that?




Lottery of life

They say
A winning ticket
Could be worth

                    and ten
All those

Seven wondering mouths agape;
Seven whistles of disbelief
Or one long ecstatic moan.

But even such incontinent
And wishful-thinking-weighted wealth
Could not buy me

A twenty-fifth hour, a second self,
An easy heart, a quiet mind,
A single cubic inch of open sky.

And when I smell the new-turned soil
And the forest after rain;
Eavesdrop on river’s chatter
And the whisperings of the sea
Watch the buzzard circling high above the dark-browed wood
Hear flute-notes ring like silver bells
Feel her soft hand enclosed in mine
And catch a certain smile

I don’t need a string of numbers
Spat out by some cold machine
To tell me I’m in luck.