This morning started out with chores, more specifically, scrubbing my two toilets. Once I finished that, I knew the rest of my day would be better. And it has been so.
This is the story of an old man I saw the last time I was gambling at the Horseshoe Casino.
The Old Man At The Table
They don’t care how you look
The grizzled old man stood straight and nice
The dealers and pit crew all knew his name
His clothes seemed to be as old as he
He didn’t shout He didn’t wail
He haunts my memory; I see him there
And finally a casino observation: Each urinal has a light directly overhead; you’d think they could hit it once in a while!
Don’t care how you dress
Just don’t make trouble
And don’t make a mess
His patchy gray beard uneven and rough
Betting heavily on each roll of the dice
His rigid old frame just couldn’t get enough
They bantered, chuckled, cheered and traded chips
The cocktail waitresses made many hurried trips
The old gent pressed booze laden coffee to thin tired lips
But his ball cap was, as new as could be
It tilted a bit off to the side
But hung on there as if it were tied
He just stacked his chips along the rail
I saw him several times that day
Still at the table immersed in play
The tilting hat, the shaggy gray hair
He’s a fixture there, just like the table
He’ll be standing there as long as he’s able
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