by Rick Ehling
Almost overnight an entire
country reeks of three AM
in Las Vegas’ seediest casino
Few truly smiling, everything feigned
All that fatigued desperation
Smoke and sweat settling heavy
in dayless, temperature controlled space
Coin cups and wallets emptier
Perhaps a bit drunk Bleary eyed
Certainly sleepy Blinking,
yawning Or were those sighs
Remembering prior buffet
A feathered line of showgirls
Well past joy’s equinox
This crash after faux sugar
Clinks and flashes finally
overwhelming Triggering
a headache or tinnitus Most
clinging to whatever chance
they no longer believe in
Many wishing they counted cards
Rick Ehling is a physician living in the SF Bay Area, working in what was once called a “safety net clinic.” He writes most mornings when he can’t sleep; this started after a family illness but has continued for much of the last decade.
