Missive from the MGM Coffee Shop - 1976

They start out game,
These casino junkies.

Slowly drained beyond caring,
Beat down
By the clang of
Each bandit's take,
They wipe out
Still aching for
The holy sirens of success.

The meager silver avalanche
Like temptation
Seeps into the players' veins,
These wayfarers
Hustled by the neon
Names of games
And Keno runners.

While the courtesy pager
Of wayward gamblers
Chants out in staccato rhythm
"Tel-e-phone-for-Mis-ter-Sam-son,
Tel-e-phone-please,"
The endless stream of sweepers,
Dustbin urchins
In tattered uniforms,
Holds back the tide
Of money cups and torn
Coin wrappers.

The rustle of cards
And rattle of chips is muted
By the din
Of the high rollers
And croupiers;
Filigreed smoke
With a perfume veneer
Fills up the senses and
Blots out the world.

Buxom beauties overflowing,
Heaving and sighing their best,
Dare you
To take your eyes
Off your business.
Some things are a very sure bet!

In the midst of this high
Risk district
A gambler's sidekick
Sits and watches,
Paces and waits,
Marking time
By the shuffles,
The blackjack deals

And the click
Of the whores' high heels.