Jackpot By Daniel W. Wright

I knew a guy
who had an accident happen to him
at his job
and the job gave him
a big settlement and two months paid leave
just to make sure
he wouldn’t sue

He took his settlement
and paid two months’ rent on his place
and threw enough money at his utilities
to cover those same couple of months
Except for food
he didn’t think to take food into account
He would take his weekly check
and he would say
“Fuck it,
I’m spending this on good whiskey
and going to the track!”

I asked him if he was going to go
to Fairmount Park
He said “Shit,
that shithole’s too dirty for even me!”
I haven’t seen him in a while
but I hope he made a killing
or at least found the best kind of whiskey
that one can drink

A poet of the no collar work force, Daniel W. Wright is a mid-western son who loves and loathes the red brick town that surrounds him. A longtime writer of wild nights and whiskey tributes, Wright speaks for the lover in every loner. He is currently the author of five chapbooks of poetry, the most recent being The Death of the Ladies Man with Bad Jacket Press. His work has appeared in the Gasconade Review as well as underground zines Bad Jacket and Crappy Hour.