Lottery

A fortune shared with my mother 

in some small globe a fair-haired man makes me laugh like the feral hyena I become

when someone lights a match in my rib cage.

a day and time, approximate to be exact 

until he’s leaning over my fevered wingspan cut short by the time 5th grade bestowed its grace upon me.

months until this older gentleman, or so the fortune teller tells, serendipitously steps into my airtight career driven corporate jargon ambitions and cares to make coffee among the cold sweep of crumbs.

yet to meet the man, this fair haired funny fictitious fortune favored fellow, since mom called to tell me the news 

but I glance from under a Tuesday, thick with shame, at you

dark haired, tall, and spoken for, tuned to the same note in some piece cast aside by the calloused hand of talent.