Hope Comes with Empty Pockets to Share the Wealth

by Peter Pestoni

<poem>Dressed up as a sure thing, hope sneaks in like early-morning sun through the curtains and like an inside tip on a fixed race, this hope promises to beat the rest and rushes me downstairs down the street to place the bet; the rags-to-riches we've all waited for,

past the store windows I am a blurrr, for a moment the winning horse...

like the roar of the crowd later, when the wrong horse finishes first, this hope is suddenly cold,

and like the midnight train

derailed

high on an overpass,

this hope is a celebration

of lights, sparks

and explosion;

a good show

that doesn't last,

now

ripples on the water;

hope's promise,

a bright reflection

that was.