It is depression that deceives you
So divinely into keeping on
Trying your first and last luck.
You wear this mask
Of hoping for the lord
Of big money to come by,
Come and visit you at last.
At this late hour right
From a to-go chicken house,
You fall in line,
Present your wallet, the whole
And you dream
A bucket of green bucks.
A while before
You passed by New York's landmark,
The lady in her splendor,
Her lamp's light on, you suppose
Or so you thought a liberal thought, the better
To earn good karma, the endorsement of the santos.
First you present to the cashier
The twenty for the ticket in quarters
And in good luck ceremony.
Then you do a patdown on the pocket
To feel the lightness of betting.
Here, before this slot machine, you swear
There is no history, no story, no love.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Nov. 21, 2004