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Scratch Ticket (the lure of the lottery)

Sitting hunched over in your old car,
Who in the hell do you think you are?
Scratching on dreams in your hand.
Find your soul, if you can.
Feeling like a hopeless dope.
It's getting harder to even cope.
Daily numbers and other games too.
Trying to get the best of you.
No cash for the heat or the rent.
The money for food is already spent.

Some people laugh and shake their head.
Some days you wish that you were dead.
To put an end to the humiliation.
To escape from this lame situation.
The vultures await to pick your bones.
No where to turn when you're all alone.
Everywhere that you go,
asking for help; the answer is "no".
But damn it; if you should happen to win,
The same ones come a tramping in.
Asking you for a big donation
To help out those in dire situations.
But you'll say, "To hell with that.
Doing it my way is where it's at.
I'll help whomever I damn well please
To find a cure for a fatal disease.
And those with a television ministry,
Can stay the hell away from me!
One day, I will build my own damn place.
To shelter the homeless and disgraced.
Most of all, I'll go away.
Where I can't be found and there I'll stay.
Cause it's going to take a long, long time.
To wash this hunger from my mind.
To erase the memory of soda cans,
Worn-out clothing and sticky hands.
My days were spent looking for work.
And being, put down by some uppity jerk.
But all of sudden,I'm popular.
Now, who in the hell do you think you are?"

Learn more about this author, Betty Rodman.
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