Bingo

You drove your scooter all the way to the Mecca Bingo Hall. You like to travel in style, you said. You had your own dauber that you purchased from Rymans. Your special talisman. When you got home to your pretty big world, you put your pen back in your black, leather pocket. Ready for next week.

You see, you said, I know I’m gonna win some day.

You turned the light off at the end of the evening. Got into bed. The valance is starting to wear thin. You used to walk to Bingo. Your daughter is too busy for a lift. Your pretty small world is wearing thin. Sometimes your rain mac is blue. Sometimes it’s chilly.

You see, you said, I don’t think my name is on the list.

The lady at Tesco knows your name. You have a yellow jumper. It has a stain on it now. You think it’s gravy. In 1964 you heard Bob Dylan play mouth organ. It was sunny and you sat on the grass. It was a great day. You were holding someone’s hand that day. You squeezed and held on hard.

You see, you said, I’m not sure where I can sit.

You caught your hand on the lid of a baked bean tin. You can only eat half a tin. It seems a waste to throw the rest away. Put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Not the same, you don’t have to cook for anyone else now. Once, you baked some cakes and fed them to the birds.

You see, you said, I’m confused. I need a plaster for my cut hand.

Vacant, the place where you used to sit. You used to go out together. You used to hold hands in the sun. You used to be amused by the TV. Sit-Coms. You giggled over cake. You gave your collection of records away to St. Barnabas.

You see, you said, I’m not really a winner.