I’ve got a pocket full
of warm whispers
to parcel out to ears
scented with lavender and daisies.
And a few hollow incantations
rolled up my sleeves,
for the dazzling gamblers looking
to push a stack of chips on me.
“I’m a bad pony, you shouldn’t bet on me”
I say to them both,
sanding David Mamet’s name off of that sentence
and penciling in my own with a grin and a wink.
It works every time, for better or worse.
Everybody loves a long shot.