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