Living on Scratch Tickets
Sweating alcohol.
Living in the park.
Wearing a torn suit coat on a 90-degree day.
The lost wanderer with protruding gums stumbles to the checkout
line at the White Hen Pantry to cash in his 5-dollar scratch ticket winnings.
He thanks the non-committal clerk, picks up his coat hanger radio antenna.
I pay for my newspaper and remind myself to remember him.
Then write these words of observational suicide.
©Dan Provost all rights reserved
Dan Provost’s poetry had been published throughout the small press for many years. His latest chap, Wear Brighter Colors–was published by Analog Submissions Press. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura.