My mother rings again to say
they’ve called, the prize patrol,
this man she barely understands
who promises two million maybe more
a fancy car, a knock on the door
and all she has to do is send a voided check
to her it seems a reasonable bet.
But no, I say, a common scam
You must hang up, please disengage
third time this month, I inward rage
third time this month her hopes deflate.
Letting go, holding on, hazy, worn,
she wanders this carney game world
threadbare tickets, pocketed, torn.
Early Morning Poems 