Sid Miller: poem
VEGAS
As she lays that
ghastly six
upon my Jack,
and even when she returns
and hits me with that
man-hating Queen,
robbing me of another rung
from the ladder of my dreams,
I smile.
Looking her in the eye,
Margo from Afghanistan,
I love you.
And I love you more
with each comment
that lunges from the mustachioed men
from Nowhere Town Oklahoma,
as they bet each other,
"To name one city
from your land of Rebels."
And I love you more
with each turn of my head,
looking at the other dealers:
wizened men whose shiny heads
and grimaces read like
"Beware of Dog" signs,
Asian ladies who only give
me furtive glares
and wouldn't smile
if I told them
they were the one.
But don't get jealous
Margo from Afghanistan,
you who laugh at the pretty pictures
on the cards, unsure of the words
to tell me
how you arrived
behind this reservoir of green felt,
dealing heartbreak
with an eight deck shoe,
for I am a faithful man.
I stare into your face,
like looking
at a dolphin in a pool
Margo from Afghanistan.
The reflection from these flourescent lights
hitting your oiled hair
blinds my eyes,
it tells me that you don't belong here.
This is ugly.
For ugly people like me.
I give you these silver dollars,
even though you lay those
man-hating Queens on my sixteens.
Take them Margo from Afghanistan,
hold them to your breast,
and run Margo,
run.
Sid Miller's work has appeared in several small press publications, including Tripwire #3.
