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There they squatted,Gambling awayTheir meagre pay,Fatalists all.I heard the muted fallOf dice, then the assuredRetrieving sweep of hand on roughened board.
I thought it good to seeFour lives so freeFrom care; so indolently sure of each tomorrow,And hearts attuned to sing away a sorrow.
Then, like a shot,Out of the hot,Still air, I heard a call."Throw up your hands,I've got you all,It's thirty days for gambling.Come Tony, Paul,Now Joe don't be a fool.I've got you cool."
I saw his eyes and knew he'd never go;Not Joe,The strongest hand in River Bow.Springing from where he sat, straight, cleanly made,He soared, a leaping shadow, from the shadeWith fifty feet to go.It was the stiffest hand he ever played.To win the corner meantDeep, sweet contentAmong his laughing kind.To lose; to suffer blind,Degrading slavery upon "The gang."And killing suns, and fever ridden nightsBehind relentless barsOf prison cars.

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