tonight my numbers won’t be read across the screen

but I’ve got to get her that ring

they won’t be seeing my name in the morning

they won’t ask me the questions

they ask newfound millionaires

what did you do before?

where did you work?

will you go on vacation?

my family won’t be blowing up my phone

and I’ve already asked her dad

already set the date

already chosen to fall from grace

already put that shackle on my ankle

baby if they call my numbers

then you can be happy

if they call my numbers I’ll get you that bed

if they call my numbers we can take your car down to

the river

and watch the break lights disappear

I’ve got enough love for my baby to keep her for

another few years

but my love doesn’t match the pennyslvania lottery

my love can’t stand beside that pile of cash

I know this world enough to know that love, money, and

happiness

are expressions said by the poor to the poor

so that they can face the morning

I know the hands that printed up my ticket

I know those sad understanding eyes

that empty good luck that rings out like handing out

the eucharist on sunday

the lottery has a bigger congregation

even god has memorized his numbers

I want to take away all of those hard earned bucks

of a hundred million hopeful union workers

of a faceless mass of short order line cooks

I want to get my baby that ring she’s picked out

I don’t want to look back

so what

so what if it ruins my poetry

so what if it torches my relationships

breaks apart my family

buys me out of heaven

embarrasses the third world

this world is based on luck

the luck of your own skin

the luck of your pedigree

the luck of your jaw line

the luck of your accent

the luck of your sub-sea level avenue

in the face of a hurricane

and if these numbers ride

I’m gonna take care of their daughter

I’m going to wrap the wealthy comfort around her like

bubble wrap

and we’ll sit in our newfound brownstone

and wait on death to come knocking at our

lottery-bought brass doors