A Gambler's Dream

• Jack Growden, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2011

The man awoke quite suddenly,
And crept out of sight.
To the beloved casino he was going,
For another wasteful night.

He raided his children’s piggybanks,
That held all their hard-earned cash.
He smuggled them into his jacket,
And swept off in a dash.

He entered the bright casino,
And saw all his mates.
All of them, like himself,
Had several dark traits.

He sat at the table,
And joined a game of poker.
He quickly moved to “500”,
The game to draw a joker.

But all went down from there,
For that woeful man.
Hundreds upon hundreds,
Lost in his flawed plan.

He moved along to blackjack,
Where he quickly went bust.
It was there he filled with rage,
And tore up the cards in disgust.

His last chance was roulette,
On the mighty number three.
That number just came up,
And at last filled him with glee.

For once he’d made some money,
Good luck it may seem,
But the punter did not care,
For it was a gambler’s dream.

But his problems were not over,
As he still had to see his wife.
She loathed gambling,
So he was certainly in some strife.

His wife was very angry,
She simply yelled and screamed.
The man’s last chance,
Had not been redeemed.

The man’s gambling problem,
Could not last another day.
The marriage was over,
She had sent him on his way.

Without making a scene,
The gambler tattled down the street.
Taking every single step,
At a cold, regular beat.

He’d ruined everything,
His problem had cost him his life.
There was only one place to go,
Where anger was not rife.

He strolled to his father’s house,
Where he said “Son, in order to succeed
There are certain rules in life,
To which you must adheed!”

It was then the man realised,
He had the give up being a punter.
He had to repair his marriage.
But his wife, she couldn’t be blunter.

But it wasn’t that easy,
His wife thought he was a disgrace,
Oh! It was so much harder,
Than drawing a precious ace.

He would never, ever give up,
For his life had to be altered.
Nothing now would stop him,
This operation could not be faltered.

Determined to succeed,
The gambler headed for the house.
He scurried though the window,
And quiet and stealthy as a mouse.

But then, his heart split into two,
For his wife was in bed,
Alongside her cheating lover,
That stylish baker, Ted.

The gambler had lost all his patience,
He was over all the lies.
He trudged down into the kitchen,
Under the night’s disguise.

He grabbed his favourite cleaver,
Irate to say the least.
Joy would certainly come,
In killing that filthy beast.

He slashed at Ted repeatedly,
Until great blood was spilt.
Something touched him deep inside,
And filled his heart with guilt.

The gambler then moved on,
To his wife’s sleeping figure.
He stabbed her until her breath stopped,
But this took enormous vigour.

There was nothing now to contemplate,
Nothing needed to be said.
He turned the knife on himself,
And launched it through his head!