8 April: And I’m surprised that he doesn’t have a lucky number. He grins, pauses, as if considering we might have less in common than he thought, and he asks, Do you have one? … and I say, No, of course I don’t. Now this is not unexpected because his consistent complaint about me, besides that I hang the loo roll backwards, is that I’m a pessimist. You see, I don’t buy lottery tickets because I never win. I don’t gamble because it’s a waste of money. And he says, if I do have a lucky number it’s probably 29031951. No way, I say, you can’t use your birth date as your lucky number. I mean how often does 29,031,951 come up in the Friday Lottery draw? Well, it was lucky for me, he said. For me, too, I agree.
Prose Poem for PA Writers’ Digest Day 8: Lucky Number
It's Still Life 
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