Sandra works the slots all day

Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks

Feeding the bandits instead of her soul…

Knowing it’s daylight, somewhere!

Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack

Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress

Imagines doing things way past his prime…

Knowing it’s nighttime, somewhere!

Passing hours like their years

Bathed in sticky syrup distraction

Dismount stool, lurch; pin-prick pupils

They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland

As their vacation; their marriage

Mid-life shape shifting sand!


© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

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