BEING LUCKY
It was an honor
to have another day
driving up to his house
in its swanky car.
He felt privileged
to hold his cup
and sip the coffee.
It was a sign of distinction
that his toast had turned
the perfect shade of brown,
and that butter
was spread on its surface.
Writing this poem,
he felt fortunate
to find a word
just when he needed it,
shining like a prize.
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