RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Looking around at all the flashing lights,
hearing the sounds of slot machines egging
people on, urging them to spend their money
on exorbitant odds, making them think they're
going to win the jackpot or something more.
Yet, when all is gone, the game over, what is
left of the fun?
Nothing. Not even the rent money.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Playing Slots by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
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