ANOTHER DAMN POEM ABOUT LOVE

Love is a lottery ticket.
What are the odds?
But you play anyway.
Life is a drawer 
full of old lottery tickets
that didn’t pan out,
each one a springtime of hope 
in its day.
And there’s nothing like hope, is there?
Besides, it’s only a dollar… or two
and what’s a dollar for a springtime of hope?
So you go down to the corner store every day 
or the corner bar every night 
still betting those same old numbers.
It’s only a dollar.
Think of the memories you’re buying.
But every night around 8 o’clock
the numbers are drawn 
and someone else gets lucky,
so now you’ve got a drawer full of memories.
That’s all life is, you know…
a drawer full of memories.
Sometimes you pull one out and look at it
and try and remember 
that particular combination.
It was a warm sunny day, remember? 
and you were feeling particularly lucky, 
remember?
when you threw down your dollar 
and said to the man behind the counter, 
“I’ll take a quick pick.”  
Remember?
Love is a lottery ticket.
Somebody’s got to win
And you can’t win if you don’t play.