The Lottery
The Lottery
Through their mind’s eye, patiently they stood gazing to the sky,
peering through the floating cloud, hoping to spot the pot
of gold at the end of the rainbow.
From a shorter distance, a day in the month of May,
and in the solitude of self, I studied the long line of
Mona Lisa faces against expectations and probabilities.
Some leaned on canes; others rode in wheelchairs;
still others held up under their own weight.
As the single column shrunk, it grew with young mothers
and their laughing children ducking under their
grasping hands, and using them as Maypoles.
My mind got a glimpse of a young mother with a cute little
house etched on her face for she and the baby
on her hip, and the toddler tugging at her skirt.
In the stillness of self, I was able to see beyond my likeness
into the mind of a round- woman silently, moaning as she
leaned on inflamed knees that ached for a knee replacement.
I even eavesdropped into the thoughts of an adult male,
weighed down under jobless, moneyless, and homeless.
The gold at the end of the arc is certain to replace
“less” for “more”, he thought!
I could not help over hearing the long conversation of two men
standing side by side, in the single line, making loud talk:
''I'm behind in child support payments and can’t see my child, said one.”
'Are you saying, you sat quietly in the courtroom waiting for
a judge to evaluate your family's needs, the other asked sharply? '
MAN, we got to do better!
We can’t keep letting others adjudicate our worth and that of our families!
Let’s take back our dignity, and with pride,
place it in custody of our sons and daughters.”
As the front of the line was dwindling, I plainly saw a silver haired woman, time lined her forehead; her eye lids drooping like weeping willow branches. Yet she held tightly onto the plastic holder bulging with blessed lotto cards. She fixed her eyes and mind to the heavens, silently praying that God would not forsake she and her three small grand children…though, she had fruitless results before.
The procession moved closer. I stood in awe at the speed and accuracy of the cashier’s fingers pecking the keys; as the machine violently spat out handfuls of lottery tickets. And like a robot, taking customers money- at the same time- placing the tickets in their hands. I patiently shuffled along not thinking myself as part of the aggregate in the shopping mall.
Nearing the front of the line, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket,
(Unknowingly) a ten spot fell to the floor. “Hello Boo. I’m good. No.
I’m waiting to buy my lottery tickets. Son, hopefully the cashier has that
“BIG CHECK” we have been waiting for. Okay, bye”
I leaned forward; handing the cashier my number list, then reached into my pocket and pulling out an empty hand. I wondered if gamblers count the times they lose or win.
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
Added by Poetry Lover
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