Croupier

Croupier smoking a cigarette, hesitates picking up the red phone;

His father has a job for him, he doesn’t want it.

“Jacko, call Mr. Reynolds at the Golden Lion Hotel.”

I’m reminded of the little room in the school library

where I called my father up every day at noon

and I say:

“Listen to your father, Jacko. He can call. You can call. You’re there. He’s there. Some people can’t call anymore.

Some people you can’t call anymore.

Like Marion.”

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