Jesse
2019 - poetry
You laid in bed, avoiding sleep;
You fed, like wasted quarters
Into a polychrome slot machine
Four irretrievable hours;
They paled in front of the screen.
And, after the stardust’s hourglass
Was wrung, and dawn was threatened,
Your dollar hinted at a loss
That staggered into thousands;
Shuttered, behind the barricades
Of comforter and slanted shades,
You shuddered at the thought—and swept
Your soul to sleep with sleeping aids.