The pump clicked once, soft applause,
as I walked inside, dreaming of luck.
The line was long, I chose numbers,
quick picks for futures I couldn’t picture.
The screen outside was screaming $212,
as if I had fueled an entire sky.
My Honda, loyal, mild-mannered, doesn’t ask
for much, just a small sip, a breath.
But someone had borrowed my trust,
their truck surely a beast, insatiable.
I pictured someone else’s hands gripping,
the handle once meant for my tank.
Back in my car, my chest felt hollow,
like the empty space where those dollars lived.
“Winning ticket,” I whispered, pretending luck
was heavier than the weight of theft.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2025 05:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Katie B., sorenbarrett
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Comments3
Excellent. Very well written. Captures the reader's attention immediately. True story?
Clever and deep in its metaphor this poem speaks of theft not only literal but metaphorical. Very well written Gray this is a fave
Powerful work, my friend.
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