Casino Night

by Susan Wheeler

All the matches are printed “Hook’s Casino.”
They do Casino Night right, here under hatches
at the Hookery Spa.

The dykes from the next bunk turned unfriendly.
I may not be cool.
Reading may not be the alternative to Hook’s Casino.

Big boy! Stiffen that thought and hold it, won’t you?
Yassir Igotcha, the half-Palestinian, third-Minneapolisan,
stirred at sight of the dice. I’m like nice.

But not very. I got the roil of
American swells, the bugs and sad TV sedimentation,
the gamboling cells under glass in the stratified light,

a limpid one-two over chips on the felt.
I might not be right. Freeweights away,
Hook’s wheels spin on far and long in the night.


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