poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “las vegas”

seaside room in las vegas

they put me up in the las vegas hilton
I remember it well
it was a monday

I wasn’t going anywhere soon
so I had plenty of time to count all the chips
stacked on the round table in the corner

I tried calling out but all I could hear were
ocean waves coming through the receiver

I took a shower and drank a beer
and ate a small bag of honey roasted peanuts

I opened the door and looked down the hallway
both ways
and though it seemed the coast was clear
I knew I wouldn’t be able to get far

by the time the sun went down I wasn’t sure
exactly where I was
so I called the front desk and they assured me
that yes
I was indeed at the las vegas hilton

I picked up the telephone
and tried calling out again just to let you know
I was extending my stay
but all I could hear were ocean waves

april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Alive and Well in Las Vegas

The King and I sat in a barber shop
on the Las Vegas strip
swapping oft-told stories
and questioning the reasonings
behind failed empires

He explained how his realm reaches
far outside the lines of Clark County
where one-armed bandits
pay homage to sinners
and tax collectors

He spoke with quiet authority
on the decline of principles
and goodwill toward men
using literary devices
to illustrate his finer points

With the sun soon to vanish
in the cool desert air
He tucked his hair up under his hat
and led his sandaled entourage
down the boulevard

december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

take the money and run

they told me to take the hush money
said they wanted me to forget
all about the aliens
I met at the tropicana

aliens I repeated
I thought they were mexicans
disguised as cubans
dropping into vegas
by way of area fifty-one

it’s a bundle they said
go ahead and count it if you like
but there’s fifty grand there

immediately I imagined
I’d never see them aliens again
then wondered
if the money was any good

november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


He wakes up tired and alone and starts
the daily routine all over again,
asking himself what’s it all for,
this grind called life; doing the same thing
day in and day out and seemingly
not getting anywhere.

In the kitchen the cat tries to order
bacon and eggs as he pours himself
a cup of orange juice,
dispensing the daily supplements
onto the counter, convinced they’re necessary
to keep his vital organs functioning.

Once on the highway he interacts
with sports talk radio, arguing against
this Sunday’s predictions.
Nearing downtown he darts into the fast lane
and accelerates past the exit ramp,
a smile on his face and Vegas
only three hundred miles away.

october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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