a memory
When I think about luck, I think about the first story I ever wrote.
I was eight years old and it was about a Leprechaun (I still can’t spell it if not for spellcheck) and a pot of gold not on the other side of a rainbow
but at the leprechaun’s feet.
Maybe I heard part of this story somewhere in a cartoon,
in a movie,
in a book.
I wrote it my own way though,
I do remember that. I had a point.
I like how, even as a kid, I knew I needed to have a point.
The point is, my leprechaun forgot where he put the pot of gold and he was mad about it even though it was his own damn fault and it was right at his feet the entire time.
open
your
eyes
and
luck
will
appear
abra
abra
cadabra
