Scratch Card

I hate you, but I can’t help looking at you as you
Punch numbers into the lotto machine.

You flash me a patronizing smile as you return to your seat
And we eat our donuts in silence, our feet swinging against the table leg.

You bought a carton of milk and I did not and now a dryness is spreading
In my mouth and you are holding her hand as you offer her a sip.

And suddenly, the vending machine is buzzing and the women behind the cases of
Cinnamon twists and maple glazed custards are speaking in rapid Korean

And you are chipping away at your scratch card with
The edge of a Tennessee state quarter.

You scratch a seven, and eight, a four, and I am about the cry
For you have lost a dollar, yet somehow I have lost everything.