Some nights it seems like a flat world with eight sides.
One for each day of the week
and one for hyperbole and dreams.
And if lady luck don’t give a fuck,
Mickey could look out over a sea of chips;
red, white and blue
and see Mother earth’s seven seas
as seven great head hunting mouths
ready to devour him and his American boy past time.
He couldn’t believe this guy had such a disgusting tell.
But it was plain to see.
Every time he had a bad hand
he picked his nose and rolled it between his fingers.
“It came from your nose, there’s nothing to smell!”
Mickey wanted to scream.
But he kept quiet, checked
and took his entire pile of chips.
And a big squeeze off the hand sanitizer.