AR (3-2-1945 / California)

Toss Of The Dice

What was at stake?
Was it the greed of money?
Felt cloth caressed by the rake
The chips smelled like honey
Shoulder to shoulder
We laid down our bet
Money earned breaking a boulder
It’s something one doesn’t forget
Snakes eyes, box cars, little Joe
Seven or eleven ready to seduce you
Put everything on the line head to toe
Two dotty bones trying to reduce you
The fever in the room delivers a smoky glow
The pit crew reaches out with every claw
First shooter talks to the dice, whispers a blow
With the first roll we neglect the averages of law
No matter how they toss the dice
There will be losers and winners
If my chips pile up, that would be nice
If not I will join that long of sinners
Two little squares can entice
No limit will suffice
Yes the toss of the dice
Will bury any good advice
They will make us men or mice
Shame us in the face of vice
Take from us what we can’t sacrifice

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Alfred - your poem brings back nights at the tables in Vegas! Craps!