Theory of Luck

There’s good luck,
like putting in a shiny quarter
that slides and clinks into a
cold interior of a cheap plastic
necklace machine, and when you
turn the silver knob, two bubbles,
green and blue tumble out,
when you only paid for one
and even though the crinkled,
 faintly glowing medallions
made from the lightest
materials aren’t your favorite
colors, you don’t mind,
because the necklaces clasp
at the back with tiny pearl-like orbs
that whiz around the thin string,
coming full circle, like the
other side of luck,
the one that is bestowed from
an old wrinkly Jewish woman,
with pearls wrapped around her
 neck under a tight shawl, that points
and yells “I mar you, your blood”
and when you ask your grandfather about
this curse, when you see his wife had died
and his daughters are crazed and alone
and his grandson is divorced with two sons
to raise on his own, your grandfather can
only answer with “bad luck.”

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