roars on and on, the sensor must be stuck.
Or perhaps some guy had a coronary
while zipping up his pants and now is wedged
in a position that triggered this Niagara.
The sinks and paper towel dispensers are
working quite efficiently. As are the attendants
with their buckets, mops and rags.
I wash my hands and wade back into the cave
of throbbing lights and faintly tobacco-scented air.
I can hardly smell the cigarettes, the fans and filters
must be powerful, efficient; everything is very efficient.
Especially the machines designed to take your money.
Credit cards accepted. The stools have tall backs,
excelent support for sitting cozy through the night.
No clocks or windows, the light subdued,
the rows and islands of slot machines glow softly,
all the fabulous names: Lucky Lucy, Wheel of Fortune, Pot-of-Gold
Martian Money, Pharoah's Fortune, Cash Splash, Lucky Charmer
how about Sizzling Sevens? Fruit Fiesta, Treasure Trail?
Ah, now there's a winner: Lucky Larry's Lobster Mania.
I could play with Monkeys Money, slay the Golden Dragon
get struck by Lucky Lightning if I'm a Cosmic Cat.
That's a Lotsaloot, Miss Cleopatra, is it from the Treasure Nile?
Can I get a cool buck from the Zany Zebra or is this Trick or Treat?
My fifty dollar limit evaporates, I'll hang on to this twenty,
take a walk around the cavern, see what else is here.
Marquee stars from forty years ago in the lounge, tribute bands.. ....
buffets and pubs and delis with long lines of people waiting to fill their bellies
or hunched over vinyl tables with a view of the action on the floor.
I don't think that I can eat here. I'm hungry, but there's this sound,
a massive chord of all the games, like hundreds of elevator chimes
and cell phone ring tones in a blender. And not much talking
not much laughter, so much attention focused on the vivid screens
and somewhere I hear a dolphin squealing. Flipper! is that you?
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