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Santos Vega
by V. Blakewhere i'm from, hermano
a man is only worth
his weight in poker chips.
and if he knows what's good for him,
he'll have an ace up one sleeve,
a knife up the other,
and an eye out for all the punks
who know what's good for them, too.
round those parts,
companionship is made up
mostly of silicon
and it charges by the hour.
in my town,
snake-eyes and boxcars are gods
who host the two judgment days
we have every weekend.
but i'd be lyin' to ya, friend
if i said that the casino neon
ain't the best damn drink i ever had. 12/17/2009 Author's Note: Poem #2 from the pile of memoirs I stole from the many people who live in my head.
Posted on 12/18/2009
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 12/18/09 at 05:54 AM What happens in Vegas stays there and this portrays it quite well. |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 12/18/09 at 05:54 AM What happens in Vegas stays there and this portrays it quite well. |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/18/09 at 09:25 PM It would seems that gambling is not a vice, it is an expression of our humanness. We gamble. Some (as in Santos Vega) do it at the gaming table, some do not. You play, you win, you play, you lose. You play. An intersting character. Thanks. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/19/09 at 04:41 PM .... this is so very wonderful..... |
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