it has nothing to do with luck

you're lucky, she tells me. so

so

lucky.

look at all you have.

so much.

your house,

your cars,

the money in the bank.

you have

everything

you've ever wanted

and more.

you're so lucky

to be where you are.

and then i turn my hands

to her and open

them. for her to

see the scars,

the wounds from today,

fresh with blood,

the callouses of decades.

i open them flat

upon the table

to show her

that it has nothing to do

with luck

at all.