Tough Luck

Tough Luck got in his pickup truck and sped among the pines;
he had the winning lotto stub, so he saw dollar signs.
Upon arriving at the store, where money bins are deep,
he hung his head when he found out it was not his to keep.

Tough talked a streak to those who speak for State lottery prize;
official personnel noticed the tears within Tough’s eyes.
But they explained it all so well and he then understood;
so Tough picked disappointment up and stood the best he could.

Then with a sigh, Tough Luck opined, “I know, no luck today;
but I am tough, yet part of me still wonders, what the hey!”
“I pick the numbers, beat the odds, but now the State won't budge;
I understand all that you say, however I say fudge!”

They offered him some sympathy as well as deviled eggs;
Tough twiddled fingers on the desk and stretched his cramping legs.
Then he was given a long list of agencies to pick,
where he could donate his lost loot as per this dirty trick.

  (My luck be a lottery, right?
    But there is no money in sight!
      I’m right on the numbers,
        yet gold-less the slumbers,
            luck be a lottery--right!)

So Luck perused the “donate list” and felt his noodle float;
“Who do I choose for charity, whose kettle do I coat?”
“I am the benefactor, so I must define my role,
the generous Samaritan to help make someone whole!”

He saw an agency with heart, there also was Goodwill;
cancer research, the March of Dimes, the Army on the hill.
Tough picked the Rescue Mission, and food banks region-wide;
and strange enough, it struck him then, and he was filled with pride.

Tough Luck sat down officially to sign some legalese;
at first he felt a twinge of hate and weakness in his knees.
But as he signed the State release, a sense of peace then struck,
and right below his signature, he also wrote, “Good Luck!”



33 Lines
Writer's Cramp Winner
8-10-20