Scout Roux
When lady luck weeps
with her many heads
in the day, taut red stems bent
below the windowpane, I know
to take her to the kitchen sink, watch
until the water comes out the other end
brown, salt soaked, and washes down
the drain.
And an hour later, how I am stopped
by her response: sparse wave
of buds
of green growth rising to the east
folded like hands in a prayer
for peace.
I got my luck some place local.
When the cashier asked
if I found everything alright
I let her know
with a smile I had
more than I need.