like a heavy freight train
    is headed towards you,
but you are running, tripping

over its tracks. You hope luck
    is the taxi ready to pick you up,
but luck’s the subway, luck’s

the bus with the accordion
    middle. You wait
for luck, thought you bought

a ticket, thought the cab
    would stop. At the airport
you hold a sign, Welcome

Luck! But everyone passes,
    luck passes, doesn’t stop,
and you are left

with your sign and a moment
    of hope when you think
you’ve found luck

in your pocket, but luck is down
    the street in the Horseshoe
Tavern, so you peek inside

and see it — luck, in its shy suit
    drinking a beer
with your best friend,

and they are taking selfies
    with their smartphones,
and you holding

your paper map,
    hoping luck would travel
long distances to find you.