Tough times require tough measures
Gone are everyday unexpected pleasures.
Struggle, nothing but struggling to make ends meet
Keep the belly full and the landlord sweet.
Nothing in the pocket for nice things any more
Thank goodness they don't have to sleep on the floor.
Yet. That might be the case sooner than they think
Money wise, little hope, they are on the brink.
Unless they win some lottery, or unexpected prize.
Fat chance of that, nothing comes their way,no surprise.
But today the postman with a whistle left a card on the mat
He stumbled towards it with a frown, could be this or that.
He turned it over and it said scratch off the foil
Another junk mail, it made his blood begin to boil.
He threw it in the bin, but she fished it out and put it in a tin.
"It'll do for scrap when we need paper it is just waste"
But he reached into the tin and rubbed his head in haste.
His fingernail began to remove the foil bits one by one
The numbers he'd revealed matched and indicated he'd won.
His body spun, tears poured from his eyes, he couldn't speak
His hands had the shakes and now his knees had gone weak
"Look" he croacked,  "have I won".She snatched the slip
Her mind went crazy,world went black and water she did sip.
It appeared they had won one hundred thousand pounds
He kept saying it, slapping his own face with a hurt it sounds.
She had blacked out again, a crumpled mess on the floor
He had his best vest on and had shot out of the door.
To claim what was rightfully his, his much loved prize.
He'd returned his pockets bulging, he had big thighs
Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, singing a happy song
They had catapulted up the social ladder all day long
Drinking champagne, dining with a bag of fish and chips
They had hope, a song, and tomato sauce all round their lips.
Tough times had gone.