The Crippled Bird Flew Las Vegas

She decided her exit was now.

She pooled every bookie’s psychic chicane,

Wiring a pennie’s weathered dignity

Just short of upselling her soul on loan

And traded stuttering fluorescent ictus

For steel wool sidewalk

Shaded corpse stewed blue,

Outgunned but not outfoxed

Now a morgue bound rogue runaway

And 21st century hall of fame femme fatale

Hunted for cutting strings long past due,

Exploding the neon eyed shark mafia

Who made chilled blood circle rounds,

Kicking beehive tantrums

Firing cap gun napoleon complexes

Gaining blood pressure points

And losing top dollar bragging rights,

To Diana, Orchid Of Diamonds,

Who played the Royal Flush

And drowned the surly back alley rats

As sure as hell is hot,

Her plain Jane train

Whistling ragtime victory tunes

Leaving Sin City’s glittering abyss

Choking on its black widow shakedown.

The desert’s cracked broom

Swept her heel traced steps

As a sand offering thrown to God,

And the hoodwinked rat ensemble

Were still floating

Bloated facedown

Last any of the atrophied city muscle

Had heard.

They say since the crippled bird flew Las Vegas,

She sells prime real estate in the Windy City

Plucks an out of tune guitar

Bakes tart lemon pies

And still plays a mean game of cards.

Last anyone knew.

Last anyone heard.