Modern abominations
Playing the lottery is harmless, easy fun
when someone in accounting says he’ll buy
the tickets. There's something about his spreadsheet
with its names and dates and neatly tallied
columns. I don't believe we'll ever win. It's pure
foolishness. Every week, I bring five
dollars. My father used to gamble. I'd see the paper
stubs, torn in his waste basket. He crossed
a picket line once because he couldn't bring himself
to risk it all. Truth is, they don’t let you
join the lotto pool after that. Someone in
accounting is always good at keeping score.
the magpies in the conifer give zero fucks
it's all shells and beaks in their world
I laud their visceral integration
even as I chirp helpfully into this phone
berating is punctuated by raiding
robin's egg blue, gasps in the grass
Ren Pike
Ren Pike grew up in Newfoundland. Through sheer luck, she was born into a family who understood the exceptional value of a library card. Her poetry has been appeared in Train, NDQ, Neologism, and Juniper. When she is not writing, she wrangles data for non-profit organizations in Calgary, Canada.