Winner
By Emily Warzeniak
QuailBellMagazine.com
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?
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?