Email Poem

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Poem

I sat in a flop house common room
Doing social research one Christmas Eve,
Galveston in '79, I do believe.
I was there in a room full of strangers.
Sammy Davis and Old Blue Eyes 
Sang on the TV tube that night;
A yuletide show with poor reception, 
Snowy picture, black and white.
They played to an audience of losers.
Nobody there seemed much alive.
Their blank stares watching pissed on dreams
Too extinguished to revive.
It’s just the luck of the draw.
No one expects a miracle to happen.

Once I did believe in some high ideals,
The kind they like to teach you as a child.
Now the shoe is firmly on the other foot, 
The upshot when you’ve walked a crooked mile.
Life turns about like a riverboat game.
Can’t be troubled second guessing.
There’s no predicting how fortunes may change.
Even bad luck is sometimes a blessing.
If the hand I hold is lead or gold,
There’s no clearer tell than a blush.
I’m betraying no rumors regarding the deal,
Sitting one card short of a flush.
So I’ll just trust in the draw
And hope for something wonderful to happen.

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