And Then Next

If you saw a wet scrap
Of paper with a grey
Boot-print stomped onto it

Lying in the gutter,
You wouldn’t pick it up—
It’s not likely you would.

Why should you? What could you
Reasonably expect
Would be on that paper?

Take it from the other
Perspective, the story
That begins with the rare

And extraordinary
Information built in—
The scrap was a ticket

To a big lottery.
That ticket just happened
To carry the numbers

That won. People walked by
That lost scrap of paper
As it turned into shreds,

And no one picked it up.
Has that ever happened?
How much could it matter—

As an allegory,
A cautionary tale,
A pointless irony—

If it did? The story
Feels somewhat pathetic
As soon as perspective

Is fixed and specific.
You happened to walk past
A wet scrap of grey paper,

But you didn’t obsess
Over if it had text.
You lived through what went next.