The Tomorrow of Slot Machines

Larry Narron

While I sleep, the blue light

of the aquarium waves to me

from the ceiling. The fish wave

their tails, saying buenos dias,

casting their anarchist shadows

over my face, disturbing

the crest of a dream into foam.

Instead of stirring myself

awake, I sleepwalk downstairs

through the golden casino

in only my boxers & shark slippers,

shuffling through the ocean

woven by the carpet’s design

of unraveling tides. I am hunted

by smoke that ushers me toward

the tomorrow of slot machines.

I slide down before one with

a Saved by the Bell theme

& somebody hands me a drink

that isn’t strong enough to wake me.