Comment on this article

Twenty-Million Jackpot
by Shoshauna Shy

Hairnet in hand, Maureen Plotz
tells the janitor to keep the reporters
out of school; she has 200 tacos to make.
A steady string of six a.m.’s brings the pop
of flashbulbs when she mounts her Schwinn
on the back porch, the smile behind sunglasses
is all she gives as she pedals Prairie Street
to work. Then start the phone calls –
People she has never met from as far away
as Florida claim to have a new business idea
that will tickle you pink!
The ex who walked out is sitting
in a Tucson tavern saying he has forgiven
her everything.
The brother she hasn’t seen hide nor hair
of since their parents’ funerals six years ago
invites her to take him to the Peruvian
mountains or the Swiss Alps, Sis, whichever
you prefer.
Next glossy brochures and business cards
from coastal travel agents and brokers
clot her mailbox.
A realtor flown in by helicopter from L.A.
corners her at the Laundromat with maps
and photos of the Caribbean shoreline,
penthouses on the Magnificent Mile,
villas in Madrid.

Maureen sets her laundry basket
on linoleum, fixes a bowl of Malt O’Meal
for supper, falls asleep on the couch
to the bells of St. Mark’s Church.
She decides it is three a.m. she likes best,
for that is when she awakens and walks
Main Street in housecoat and slippers
to watch the sign at Gilby’s Gardening Supply
sway in the wind, the tomcats gather
beside milk saucers outside Mr. Durango’s,
the only stoplight in town change
even though not a single car or cattle truck
wants to drive in any direction
for a good 100 miles.




 

 


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]