Luck

The heavy heat of June

fell like a blanket

leaving beads of sweat to be soaked up by

my yellow t shirt

Behind the porch coated

in chipping blue paint

the old oak greeted me

with a surprise

A legion of Lady bugs

had invaded the crux of my living playhouse

once rough handholds now rippled with

insect wings and feet

scuttling away from my grubby nail-bitten fingers

Quickly I collected an old mason jar

from the rickety pump house,

evicted its eight legged inhabitants,

and rinsed it with well water

With my glass managerie in hand I returned

snapping off green twigs

and uprooting handfuls of clover as I went

Being careful, I filled my glass

with Luck