leslie SMITH: Stories & Poetry

Slot Machine - © Leslie Blackshear Smith

Their hearts are connected to the machine.
Clipped on, then the long, coiled, plastic umbilical attached to the identifier,
A shunt,
A bridge
A bar code to a file
Recording how much life has been given away,
Sucked out,
Invested.

I see a frail, blue veined hand, reaching up to press the feeder button;

Please
Please
Please-

The spinning stops-

Denied.

With a gripping, hopeless hunger
The shaking hand is raised again

Please
Please
Please-

Denied.

The corporation will make her a part of the special club

Gold,
Platinum
Emerald-

A purple heart for the walking wounded
You buy in with the blood of your hard work, and lose yourself

In the hypnotic ringing of the bells and music, watching the spinning of the screen-

You win-
You Lose-

Disconnected from your life, and all of the dreams-

Unfulfilled.

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