put it all on red in poetry

America as a low-rent casino
hazy and crowded and loud
no clocks to tell what time it is
distractions just everywhere
and at every turn a promise
how you will be the one lucky one
a promise that never comes true
that only breaks you even more
and a floor made uglier than sin
to keep you looking up at all
the flashy sucker bets and all
the promises made and unkept
while telling you it’s
not that it was all a con
it’s that you were a loser
time to pull back our chips
time to move on