The Race

Dad sits at the kitchen table
Bifocals pushed down his long, thin nose
And glances occasionally at the 6 p.m. news
As the short blue pencil guided by his hand carefully
Checks off the Tuesday night picks
The lines in his forehead deepen with concentration

Number 5 in the 3rd..
Or maybe Star Gazer or Shadow Dancer
“Gimme two numbers,” he says smiling knowingly
at the odd that I pick a winner.

I give him the first two that enter my mind
As if picking the odds to life,
Hoping not to disappoint him.

He smiles approvingly.
“Good luck,” I say as he
races through the front door.