Riven
2025
Showgirls and strippers, card sharks and grifters,
Hopes shatter like a thousand champagne flutes.
Conventioneers cast upon the desert, losers on arrival, exposed, lost and alone.
Cockiness collapses on green felt tables.
Terrified to make the phone call back home begging for forgiveness.
Up in their rooms the fiercest sunshine they’ve ever seen slashes through the curtains.
They can’t stand to look out at the city ablaze, can’t bear to look at themselves in the mirror, can’t understand what happened to them or how it came unraveled so quickly.
Can’t fathom how they’ll function with their families back home.
If they are lobbyists, justice has been served with that terrible swift sword.
For all the rest, let them heal, let their angels bind these wounds.
