Luck hasn’t fallen on me well.
My friend, luck has never been.
But one evening in a dive bar,
I searched for a one-night stand
at the bottom of a bottle.
Behind hopeful eyes,
I vainly hoped for love over a
wishing well, and a shot of gin
turned the tide as a woman
in a red skirt entered,
fluffing her long, red hair,
scanning the bar as if for a date.
She approached,
asking if she could sit.
She reached to shake my hand,
telling me, Luck was her name.
(© 2022 AC)
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