My unfortunate Cookie

by Edgar Ted Davis

I cracked its shell today,
in an American Chinese restaurant.
A pity I thought, no paper inside.
Was it damnation, or blessing.
I pounded at it on the table,
with my soup spoon still
dripping with fresh
sour soup.
Damn them, or damn me.
No lottery numbers inside,
no promise of hell,
or of heaven.
No relationship predictions, no
romantic madness to anticipate.  
Fool am I to live
my life chasing lotteries,
that support school aged
children, through political hands.
And now I've come up
empty of contents,
within a Chinese, made
in Taiwan, sugary shell.



About the Poet, Edgar Ted Davis: Previously published in the 80's then resigned from creative pursuits until semi retirement led me back towards such...