Two Poems:
[Epitaph for] Slots-A-Fun
Thirteen so unlucky, but not here
thirteen's the price of three shots and three beers
lights flash brighter when alcohol invades
No aces over eights, just a handful of spades
pull the lever - coins fall – clink clink clink
first time I heard the right sound in this city, I think
the name slurs and sloshes off my tongue in praise
others come and go, but my gang stays
playing eight machines and winning them all
up several hundred - any bet raised, I'd call
So lost in the lever-pulling drunken debauchery
I'm too gone to hit on that cute girl eying me.
Ladies appear; we walk the strip with them in tow
but the Amber Bock and Jägermeister got my mind low
I can't concentrate - they disappear into a club
we wander on further looking for some cheap grub
but if I could still walk straight, I'd walk straight back
because I've figured out the only place in Vegas to be at
I just hope when I go back it hasn't been imploded.
[Lament for] Slot-A-Fun
I read the news today oh boy
Why must progress always destroy?
Alas it stands my old hallowed haunt
but implosion would be better than the way they flaunt
this transformation from sublime to mundane
to consider this an improvement is simply insane
remove all that defined and the last straw goes crack
the camel of Old Vegas has finally broken it's back
and the Strip stands devoid of the culture of old
No coins fall from slots no cheap beer is sold
the craps cost too much for the budgeted traveler
I'd fall to my knees, and beg as a groveler
If I thought for one minute I could recapture the spirit
Of that casino of old, but the gods would not hear it
They sit high on their thrones with their overpriced art
and not for one minute would they feel remorse to part
With the glitter and glamour and magic that built
The foundation of Vegas or the power they wield
They see only money and all that glitters as gold
And they've sold their souls with the Vegas of old.