like a heavy freight train

    is headed towards you,

but you are running, tripping
over its tracks. You hope luck

    is the taxi ready to pick you up,

but luck’s the subway, luck’s
the bus with the accordion

    middle. You wait

for luck, thought you bought
a ticket, thought the cab

    would stop. At the airport

you hold a sign, Welcome
Luck! But everyone passes,

    luck passes, doesn’t stop,

and you are left
with your sign and a moment

    of hope when you think

you’ve found luck
in your pocket, but luck is down

    the street in the Horseshoe

Tavern, so you peek inside
and see it — luck, in its shy suit

    drinking a beer

with your best friend,
and they are taking selfies

    with their smartphones,

and you holding
your paper map,

    hoping luck would travel

long distances to find you.
Kelli Russell Agodon is our Poet in Residence for July. Previously: Downpour, Present Tense, and Poem Where We Apologize For Being Human.