Mark Six

The elderly in the house keep pressing
wrinkled
veined
webbed
a finger with an enlarged knuckle
forcefully presses

The monitor monitors
The screen shows
The screen screens my memory
while the old murmurs
repeating what is said and commetated in the cliche show
35, 12, 21
i cannot remember the number of randomness

what comes to my mind
the old pictures
they are concrete and not of chance or coincidence

picking up the phone
calling aunt jane
asking if she had won a lottery out of the treasury
what an ambition she has
wishing her daughter good and luck and fortune
if fortune can become bliss

further in the back of my brain
deeper in the bottom of my heart
i remember i once enjoyed watching the weekly draw
we laughed, we guessed, we bet
if it was read, blue or green
while my grandma cannot distinguish blue and green
if it was even or odd
non childishly

i did not know what it's meant by "special number"
when speciality blurs out
when an ordinary and what you considers rountine passes
and becomes bits of memory
this is the time for regret and reflection.