box cars on the bar top
when the dice flop out of the cup
across a bar top that’s older than sin
and you look down on five beautiful sixes
you catch a rare win
for a jackass interloper
in a world full of sharks
you’re just a small time punk
from a nowhere town
born with a useless gift for words
wins and triumphs don’t figure in your life
and all those box cars on the bar top
don’t mean your lot has changed for the better
the hundred bucks you won will disappear
when you get mugged in the alley
on the way back to your motel room
that notebook of defiant poems in your pocket
won’t save your bumpkin ass
but it’s still fun to revel in a win
and a joy to fuck with the local destiny
by leaving the c-note
tacked under the bar with a wad of gum
if you survive the robbery
you can sneak it out tomorrow
just before the Trailways bus pulls out of town
Horror Sleaze Trash 