Busking In Vegas Poem by Dr Ronnie Bai

Midnight on Vega's neon-lit street
The heat wave of desert sun still
Seethes to sear tourists' bare feet
That in and out of casinos spill,

Their first soft souvenir slippers
Slapping the hard sidewalk awash
With the salty sweat of buskers —
Their tips-urging voices street noise squash.

Nuns near naked, cowboys codpiece-clad,
Break-dancers, moon-walkers on fire,
Statues of Indians scalping mad,
Floating tricksters don't seem to tire —

Against the air-cooled carpet floor
Of heart warming ca-ching slots and tills
They are in a sweaty joint war —
All in th' name of honest green bills.