slot machine 

someone asked me "are you american?"
& i said, "no, i am a slot machine"
which is another way of saying "yes,
& i do not know what that means."
in the airport at midnight in las vegas 
all the purgatory seats surround an altar of chance.
the planes take off like coins. my flight 
is delayed & there are ghosts mixed with travelers
mixed with disciples mixed with glorious non-believers.
i wish i was a non-believer but instead
i consider the odds. a woman tells a man
as he returns from the pulpit,
"i thought you were winning?" he says with
a hint of despair, "i lost fifty."
i am just tired enough to think, "maybe
the lights would give me fifty." balance the scales.
let me eat something sweet & ruthless. 
i check my bank accounts for the third time today. 
i buy water in little space ships. have i avoided 
a confrontation with the machine if 
instead, i watch others play? press a button.
cascades of digital gold. i am prying apart
the words "country" & "land."
"gold" & "whole." "chance" & "destiny." 
i miss the call for boarding. end up
at the back of the line between a man 
who keeps trying to call someone 
who will not pick up & two children who
do not let go of each other, their guardian
gripping a stroller, eyes shut. i savor the un-american
parts of me. the yearning to be swallowed
in places like this. to be unexceptional. 
to make it home in pieces. an unnamed part of me
left behind in the miniature sin city 
that glows loud & wordless 
out the tiny airplane window.