Scraping off
The smiling Santa Claus faces
Dim hope fading
With each metallic fleck
Flicked onto the kitchen floor
Yet, she will buy more
Always more
And always the same numbers
On the gas station tickets
She buys with a bag of chips
And gas-station humus
With gas-station pop,
In a gas-station cup -
Too large to hold in one hand -
That she fills to the brim
With hope
She never lets herself
Get to empty
She fills her soul with
Perpetual certainty
That one day, she’s gotta win
She’s just gotta
So she plays the game
Plays the odds
Fills her cup
Fills up her tank
Drives to two, three, four
Thankless jobs
And never lets her soul
Get to empty
She’s just gotta win
Fate has gotta give in
To her sheer ambition,
She knows it in her bones
Maybe not this time,
or next time
…or the time after
But soon
…definitely soon