Lucky Harahan

Lucky Harrahan
was not. Stood he
in the rain
in a lamp-less alley
behind the racetrack.

Big wet polka dots
plashed boldly on his
proud plaid jacket.
He squished sullenly.

He wore his Racing Form
perched pup-tent
on his head.

He knew, once, how to
fashion a printers cap
from any odd scrap.
An honest trade
was not, however,
in his cards.

He pulled out a fortune
of folded horses,
damp and loveless
matchbooks, bits of
primordial lint.

His car was here.
His keys were not,
rabbit foot fled
for greener pockets.
He swore then,
honestly, never to
gamble again on a single
set of keys.


Rob Kistner said...

Greetings – Interesting site you’ve created! I came by to say hi …and to invite you to stop by Image & Verse for a visit, or just to say hello.

janetleigh said...

I really like this, Mark. There are little twists and turns here and there and I love the word-play weaving in and out throughout the piece. I haven't been here in a while, but it's pure delight to be reminded why I do, when I can. Lots of personal events keeping me away from visiting the sites I enjoy. Yours being one..:) I shall return!