The stains upon the bar
tell of many sad tales
of love, loss and tragic lives;
and drink to drown out the wails.

Another washed out soul
seeks the solace of the glass,
to wash away the memory
of another broken pass.

Another wheeler-dealer,
another gambling god,
another weary player
bet his life upon the sod.

The rings around his eyes
mark the toll of tell tale signs,
the vacant stare, unshaven chin,
you read between the lines.

Just one more shot to dull the sting
of a life that’s breaking down,
another drink to hide the lines
of another washed out frown.

He staggers out
onto harsh lit streets,
head gently spinning
on unsteady feet.

He knows that it's near,
he can hear the call,
just over the road
and down past the mall.

Shuffling along
with an unsteady gait,
cell phone ringing,
who cares, it can wait.

Eyes now blind
behind stinging tears
but it's not enough
to allay his fears.

And there it is
in a hazy dream,
a small footbridge
over a lazy stream.

He grips the rails
with trembling hands,
there’s no point telling her,
she won't understand.

Then just for a moment
he catches a glimpse
in the soft flowing waters
and it makes him wince,
for the wretch that he sees
is not the man that he knows;
there’s a stranger staring back
from dark waters below.

With a shuddering sigh
and with tears streaming down,
he's leaning over;
feet leaving the ground.

For a moment he's flying,
so alive and so free,
he’s no longer afraid,
just a strange kind of glee.

He doesn't feel the water
as it closes overhead,
he doesn't feel the chill
for his soul has already fled.



Written by Darren Scanlon, 25th November 2013.
Revised 12th July 2015.
© 2013 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

An irrational animal gets high
From the ravenous pump of its own tongue,
Nursing wounds of a disease untreated.

His fat meat skulks through marbled corridors
Around eyes that assign value to worth,
Fixated on transactions to be paid.

The ring and flash of victory courses
Through his silken veins and opens his mouth
To swallow the pride of the defeated

Reflection in a puddle of his own
Drool, clinging shakily from toothless dogs,
Addicted to the peak and crash of trade.

Maureen the mean lottery playing machine
when I see her  I mutter something obsene.
sometimes it's seven am on a Saturday morning
and she shows up with no warning.
"ill take a three number on the daily,
I could call her a loser and she can just pay me
behind her there is always a line
and when she buys donuts that's a bad sign
because she's always camping out in her car
And she never goes very far
when she comes back in I can feel my heart sinking
she's my reason to maybe start drinking
"I really have to go shopping"
but not before dropping
more money on tickets  then I make all week
because fortune is what she seeks
she smokes basics but only the hard packs
when she hits the million I hope she doesn't have a heart attack
"these tickets are terrible." she keeps playing
There's a disconnect between what she's saying
and what she does
but that's because
she has a terrible affliction
a gambling addiction
"two brown cash two silver sevens and one golden spin
the odds are stacked against her so she can't win
maybe she can't see
what it looks like to me
she's blinded by a tiny prospect of glory
but sadly this is just one telling of a popular story

Reached in and picked a winner
from your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to roll zero on 2d6.
You ******' missed
                        "**** the bed!"
I guess you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.

"Carpe Diem" on your calf,
laugh your way to the bank.
But put a stutter on your chuckle
'til the day they seize your wages.
If it "happens for a reason,"
fold your cards and hold your tongue in.
                           Hold your tongue and
                           clamp your teeth.

"What it is is what it is."
That's a "tautology."
They taught me that one in college,
when I took critical theory!
If you seek an explanation,
you're just critically faulting
                           on your dice rolls
                           and your debts.

Reached in and hit the bottom
of your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to keep afloat on empty words.
You ******' missed.
                           "Feeling blessed?"
Turns out you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

listening to your story,

wondering how life could become

such a travesty of pain and confusion.

I felt fortunate to not struggle your loss,

that loss of confidence,

that departure of reasoning,

the ability to throw your life away

without a second's thought,

all for the mantra of a seething monster.

~

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

telling my story,

how life had dealt me difficult times,

how my chances were failing,

how suddenly I no longer knew what gambling meant.

I only knew despair, fear, and grandiose notions,

of survival, of playing the game, of beating the odds.

When before I judged the world around me,

today's court included me,

ownership and honesty knocked on my door.

~

Today, I do stand by your side,

and I am grateful,

but there is no credit in my arena,

that belongs to the power of giving,

all of you my recovering souls,

all of you that wake with every glorious day,

to proclaim to the listening voices,

'today, I didn't gamble, today I am clean!'

Today, I rise with each waking sun,

knowing I have been gifted with harmony.

~

Eight years ago, the urge to gamble, an insidious addiction,

suggested my life would be better if I stood next to all of you.

"You're gambling death."
The skeleton laughed.
While shuffling a deck of cards,
the skeleton sat across from me.
Grinning.
I was  starting to feel uncomfortable..
No.
Maybe the right word is trapped?
How did he get here?
"I don't gamble."
I snapped to the bones that configured the human skeleton sitting across from me...
in my bed.
"That's sad."
He sounded really sincere.
But still he was smiling,
Still he was lingering.
And as of now, I was getting a tiny bit mad.
I just wanted this thing to leave....
"If I were you I wouldn't want to loose this game." He hissed.
Of corse with a skeletal smile
that presented teeth such as those of a crocodile.
I watched the bones of his hand through the corner of my eye as he spoke reaching for a card.
Noticing that the crevices of his bones were flooded with dust.
"Any old memories you want to reminisce?"
He said it mockingly.
He continued,
"Nothing to say, boy?"
"You're covered in enough dust to have plenty stories for  us both, bones. Go on head and get us started won't you?"

you should take a vacation
visit the meadows of strip clubs and casinos
put all your money on black
come out on top, for me

come out on top, and visit me
across states and fogs and droughts
love in the form of postage stamps
i can hear your melody calling me

let's go back.

to when we used to go on adventures
running around outside for hours,
I would come home with skinned knees and a huge grin

to that time I was really sick
you made me soup and we stayed inside all day
watching movies and talking about everything

to the first party I went to
the drugs, the alcohol, the atmosphere
you stayed up and worried until I came home

to stupid high school drama and heartbreaks
through it all you were there for me with a hug and some advice
you could always make me smile

to the night you and she got in that argument
the voices fiercely fighting to be heard over each other
she packed up and moved out the next week

to the nights you wouldn't come home
I knew you were out drinking or gambling
returning the next morning with empty pockets and an emptier heart

to that day I was called to the office at school
they said it was an accident, that you must have drifted off at the wheel
but I knew better. you gave up.

there's no going back.

i.
he tosses you a chip,
its worth, its worth
it moons over your greedy soul
and you mask them all
with your chained lies,
to your silenced smokes
that wobbles up to your
sunken, tired eyes
ii.
you've been awake and to
the miles along the rims of earth,
your little brother's math assignment
scored over twenty out of fifty
and he told himself to make mama proud,
he, then, scribbled cartoons and addition signs
iii.
you've been awake and to
the valley gaps of the sunshine drizzles
your little sister's finding it hard to
participate in the maze of real life
unkempt to her own voices and she told herself,
"maybe I was just meant to be kept in streets-capes"
iv.
and your home rested on the mountains
of well-lived dreams gauged into your veins
you've tasted perfectly soggy cornflakes
in the morning and in evening, you
could taste the shrill of cicadas, blooming
into the stars-tied rose crescent
and it shut down, I've read novels like these
and heard Kurt Cobain sang to these
it was wonderful, but I'd liked it better
when the sunflower hopes rested into your veins
v.
the eleventh time he tosses you a chip,
it lays perfectly still in your palm
the twelfth time, it took over your greedy soul
with your tear-stained hazels, it whispered
rambling, gambling Willie,
do not let it consume you, as it did Willie
but it still echoed when you knocked on the door
rambling, gambling Willie,
"I'm home," you've been awake
but then, you've found none anymore