I opened Sunday's paper and was sure surprised to see
My name in print on the front page as plain as it could be.
The item stated frankly,"Johnny Jones has done allright.
He had the winning ticket in the lottery Saturday night".

The article also mentioned I was now a millionaire,
An independant wealthy man without a single care.
It then went on with flowery words that set my heart aglow.
Where their information came from is one thing I don't know.

I barely finished reading this when the phone began to ring,
And party after party had the same sad song to sing,
"I'm poor and homeless, sick and cold and sure could use some dough,
So please send me a little cash, a thousand bucks or so".

By afternoon the doorbell rang and people by the score
Began to gather on my lawn, I counted thirty-four.
The same old story, share the wealth, was on everybody's tongue
From churches, charities, salesmen, and people old and young.

When darkness fell I thought relief would surely be in sight,
But everyone stayed camped outside throughout the long, long night.
And Monday was no better, I had not a moments peace,
And I was sorely tempted to finally call the police.

What happened late that afternoon seemed really very weird,
The phone stopped ringing and the crowd just suddenly disappeared.
Later that night as I relaxed I learned the reason why
The crowd had suddenly up and left without even a goodbye.

For in the evening paper in a corner on page three,
Condensed in just a single line was an apology.
It offered this correction in type real hard to see,
"It's John E. Jones, not Johnny Jones, who won the lottery".
Ray E. Gessler

You don't buy "friends" with money,
You just lease them till it's gone! -- rage@novagate.com

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