My husband got a good one.
“You will soon achieve perfection.”
Funny thing, since last I checked
he still hadn’t found nirvana.
Wafer-cookie torn in two along the crease,
a tongue of folded paper forks out
lucky numbers, but I don’t Lotto.
I turn the message over and over in my mind.
“Maybe in next century you can live on moon.”
I hope by then I’ve moved on to something else.
My husband thinks I “live on moon” now -
has fortune smiled upon me, or just spat in my eye?