Begging the Bandit

Once in the glitz of Las Vegas, Nevada,
I met a man who was lanky and tall.
He told me he had a fistful of dollars,
but he confessed he had gambled it all.

“Where did you get all dollars?” I asked him.
He looked at me with a tear in his eye.
Then with his countenance lowered he muttered,
“I gave the One Dollar Bandit a try.”

“I never heard of the One Dollar Bandit,”
I said to him as I paused from roulette.
“I hadn’t either,” old Lanky acknowledged,
“But for a bandit it seemed a good bet!”

“So you had winnings but returned them promptly?”
I asked of him trying not to attack.
Then with the red of embarrassment showing,
he replied, “Yes sir, while playing blackjack.”

“How is it you were successful with Bandit?”
I sat with Lanky and bought him a drink.
He told me he spoke directly and frankly:
“It was my honest avowal, I think!”

“So to you Bandit was just like a human?”
My question didn’t annoy nor alarm.
Lanky responded with grin and eye twinkle:
“I felt a kinship when I pulled his arm!”

“Call me a mystic with silly intention,
but in my soul I felt honest and free.”
“When I confessed all my troubles to Bandit,
it was as if Bandit understood me.”

I waved my hand at the buxom bartender,
but Lanky said, “One drink, thanks, I am whole!”
I watched as he made his way back to Bandit--
he said confession was good for the soul.


32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
4-4-16