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Winner By Emily Warzeniak QuailBellMagazine.com  There's a pause Between money leaving palm And warmly printed ticket laid into it again. It's the tenth or eleventh Powerball ticket I've sold today.
Jackpot still four hundred million, No winners. He tells me the lottery machine makes such happy sounds When you scan a winning ticket Even if the sum is nominal. I tell him that must be why people do it. His slightly confused but innocent look follows me As I squint at the security monitor over the alcohol section. The thief seems to mimic my movements, Bending at the knees, Looking into the camera, We wave, Eyes connect for a split second. He even looks a little like me. As plastic glides smoothly apart under the razor I left out on the counter, Blade exposed, Again, I try to reprimand myself but fall short, Not quite with the malice Of spreading blood borne diseases To all of the human species Caught only by the prick of rusty blade, And I ponder to myself As I pry coke bottles Out of their packaging, When did I stop cutting the plastic six pack rings So sea creatures wouldn’t die From choking? CommentsComments are closed.
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