Las Vegas

Sarah Foote

Soulless eyes scanning
the slot machines in every building.
Graying faces,
sagging
despairing, twisted mouths.
Not a word, not even a yell of frustration.

Cussing drunk men howling,
fat old grim-faced women
with leathery hands
giving my eleven-year-old brother
some whore’s number

while he slurps down
a 42-ounce Coke
’cause it’s cheaper
than water.