I found a winning lotto ticket tucked into my wallet,
which I had bought in a New York City corner store
for five dollars with a doughnut devoured soon after,
the ticket forgotten, now frayed around the edges.
Turns out that it’s a winner, worth twenty dollars now,
but is useless at the co-op five minutes from my house;
I’ll save it should I ever return to the Big Apple,
spend the winnings on a Times Square sandwich,
or on music in a Manhattan record store, see a movie
in a Brooklyn dine-in cinema and stretch for some fries.
Until then, I’ll leave it pinned to my bedroom wall,
a constant reminder of money spent well that fall.
Chichester, May 2017