Tag Archives: las vegas

Slot Machine

I put in my two cents but never know
what you’re going to spit out in response.
Perhaps I’m not welcome in this strip of
desert, my luck gone dry, hopes no higher
than your neglected brown carpet. Bright lights
and bandit metaphors can’t hold me here
forever; it’s fight night, and I never
miss the undercard, blowing my savings on
the underdog, me, tipping for the free
drinks so necessary to make it out
of here alive. Give me your hand; let’s dance.
Smile for me at least once before I leave
so I’ll have a story to tell. We may
disagree, but I don’t mind if you yell.

Secrets Have Pulses

Secrets have pulses, and most of them brains.
They know when to leave us and when to remain.
They plot and conspire; it runs in their veins.
Secrets have pulses, and most are insane.

Secrets have pulses, and most of them teeth.
They bite through excuses like wolves do through beef.
They long to be sharpened, swords short in their sheaths.
Secrets have pulses, and most are fed grief.

Secrets have pulses, and most of them heart.
They beat for release from the cage where they’re caught.
They bleed, but bleed slowly, like jam from a tart.
Secrets have pulses, and most are distraught.

Secrets have pulses, and most of them brawn.
They never much care if they’re right or they’re wrong.
They gather like soldiers awaiting the dawn
knowing secrets aren’t usually secret for long.

I Always Liked the Taller Girls

She bared her breasts alone for me in a room full of queens and celluloid, two large globes with plump pink mountain tops that looked me in the eye and I wondered how she went from top of her class, feeding on caffeine pills, to the tacky, flashing lights of this small room with Spanish subtitles. There was always that hint of misogyny, of feminism failed while she made time with that jheri-curled luchadore, that Mexican military brat. Was this her first time in Vegas? After the wedding, it’s possible that she never left, never returned to a New York future where men would call her “bitch” while she pulled new pantsuits and racked in six digits, or more. Would her father approve, if he knew what she was up to, or is he too busy with his trophy wife making the Marriott Desert Sands as delightfully hospitable as such southern beaches would allow? She was such a smart girl when I knew her, which never seemed so long ago — second from the top in mind, but always a head above the rest.