"What Are The Odds?"

By the time I read this
I could be a multi-millionaire
But the odds don't stack up
This really ain't fair.
First they up the prices
Now it's two quid a pop
Then they add a load more numbers
To make the jackpot harder to cop.
Now I know I'll never win it
Not a hope in hell
But with the odds much longer
It leaves a nasty smell.
When the Lottery first started
We imagined it could be us
Rich beyond our wildest dreams
Life going on without a fuss.
I'd would've settled for three numbers
Which I can't get- try as I might
Not even doing well enough
To win a 'free' Platform One poetry night.
Truth is it's a big con trick
Another tax on the poor
Ticket price & odds going up
My dreams aren't real anymore.
Once I've lost again this evening
I really don't give a fuck
No longer a Camelot/Cameron cash cow
False hope based on imaginary luck.
I'll pretend to still take part
Putting my money in a jar
Saving for a little holiday
Somewhere near or far.
I'll put my pound coins in a cup in the kitchen
Buying tickets I'll skip
Saving up my eight pounds a week
To pay for a foreign football trip.

Dulwich Poet 9th January 2016

( I wrote this on the way into work, in anticipation of reading it at the Platform One poetry night, in an Open Mic slot. The rollover jackpot, not won since October, since they added more numbers, is estimated to be about £6o million tonight.)