Everything in the city is lit lit lit
the men the women the big six wheels the banks
and banks of slot machines; even the dealer who smiles
at his pit boss stuffs a chip in the slit in this tie
and excuses himself from the blackjack the poker and the baccarat tables -
and the cigarettes burn
and the roulette wheel spins
and the men at the craps table pray
and the women with their keno tickets pray
and not one could tell the other when
outside the night began starring itself awake
and the sun, red and worn five dollar chip, left
to cash itself in, and came back richer
and the poker faced moon, pockmarked and sallow
steadies himself, rises, and will not show his hand.