Wednesday, August 29, 2012


poem, with fewer typos than the previous version
my single night in vegas
i find the woodsman, a local
bar open all night

i ask about a cheap room
they recommend a nearby place
resembling a space needle
with low off-night rates

but fearful of heights i demur
park across the street
get a $15 room attached 
to a mini-casino, the Aztec Inn

experiencing hard times 
its restaurant with practically
free steak-and-eggs
closed for good

before i head to the room
i'm shooting game after game
of pool alone stroking well
at the woodsman

in my imagination
looking the part, looking
like a money player
which i'm anything but

i overhear conversations
about boob jobs, blowjobs,
typical barroom sadnesses

in a knowing voice unique to
bar maids, bartenders, 
dancers, hustlers

as i leave, three short-skirts
walk in with their pool cues
but i'm just not in the mood

i retire to my crappy room
with no TV, the joint 
must date from 1950
the window open onto the 

sidewalk, the night air asphalt hot
i wake at 3 a.m. finished with
sleep, find a taqueria
and have chilaquiles before

heading back into the
desert on my way 
to a quick divorce


Copyright 2010 by Patrick O'Hayer