The Gambling Optimist Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He could not stop.
The one-armed bandit
in busy Lake Tahoe
was an attraction
that would never
go away from him.

The farm was gone,
the kiddies out of
Private School, so what,
the wife needs teeth,
she is genetically...
and thus at fault,
inferior and in need
of some strong language,
who gives a flying,
it ain't my job to please.

Cause, after all, I know
that I will, in the end
be Paul the Reaper
for the money, honey,
the gold of sweet Nevada
and all of it, brought in
by hopeful fruitcakes,
it will be mine, all mine.

And only then will I,
in generosity's extreme
buy back the farm,
transfer the kids,
fix all her teeth
and purchase it,
the Big Casino,
the one in Vegas
and the one right here.