Truth-less Daze (Gambling Daze, part 3). A poem.

She liked responsibility—
it gave her credibility,
a way to cover erstwhile tracks,
unpaid bills and missing goods;
her lies falling on naive ears,
infallible fallibility.

The pawnshop, her best friend
(other than the pokies, that is),
until she learned that dud cheques
worked just as well
except they caught up in the end.
So, taking out loans and
subverting more trust
became her way of life.
Gamblers Anonymous was not enough.
And all the while she sank deeper
into the hole she dug,
until it was too far and too deep
to get out of.

Isn’t that the way it always goes?
Destroy another
for your own needs and hopes?
No, it’s not.
But that’s how she thought.
That’s how she lost it all.

How her fallout covered the land
and toxic ash became her brand.

My first wife was a compulsive gambler. It was not a pleasant time in my life, and is not fondly remembered. But it is remembered, by me, at least.

Steve

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.

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