A Day at the Races

"Mate, the missus is gonna be mighty pissed off."
a half-frown, half-grin grips his impish face,
as he tears up another dud betting ticket.
"You're a bloody mug, ya know",

I look him straight in the eye, knowing
full well men have made millions off the backs
of guys like him. Eager-beaver punters,
their next win is already round the corner,
and doesn't he believe it.

"Just one more bet, I've got a monty
in the fourth, get back what I've blown.
Its a good each-way bet"
"Whatever you reckon, but my hard-earned
is staying right here." I turn, hand on
wallet and leave the fool to his daydreams,

I get myself a beer.

Later, while contemplating another glass of amber
he comes at me again, his breath is short,
face sweaty, the look of a man possessed -
not by ghosts or demons, but the gambling bug.
"You wouldn't bloody believe it mate,
my luck’s crooker than a sick dog!"
"Don't tell me..."
"Yep, another bloody fourth!
Still I've got a dead cert in the next!"

My eyes roll, and I just shake my head,
knowing a fool and his money are soon parted.
I sit there and wonder
when his wife and kids will get the message,
and leave him to the thrill of the race,
his ear glued to the radio, as he sits in some bar,
alone with his dud betting tickets.