Not many planes in the sky yet, but it's barely four
In the morning.  One waits for me at the airport,
I'm sure.  I'm leaving Las Vegas, sitting outside
In the cool morning air, almost seduced by
Subdued desiccation, but not quite.  The hellish
Heat soon will return.  The ugly, dead mountains
Will come into view, and, at once, all the streets
Will be jammed, while the sidewalks will radiate
Not only heat, but the emptiness I've come to hate
In this cold-shouldered town.  I have done the two
Things which I came here to do, showing up
For my mother's birthday festivities.  Ninety years
Old!  Isn't that something?  It's something, I think,
As she stares from her couch.  She can't hear.  She
Won't speak unless somebody foolishly pushes
The button which makes her “recall” an
Event she embellishes each time it's told.  When
There's no one else there, she sits, stupified, gone,
Stroking her cat and watching TV.  Can that be
Called living?  I leave.  It cannot.  I then test
To see how far my own life has shriveled,
Meeting with J.  It's been over a year.  She
Still chirps when she sees me, still tells
Me how much she would like to run off
With me, sometime, to loll on the beach.
I can feel myself warm in response, though
I know in advance what is going to happen.  
I get a nice hug, then she flies off, then
Silence.  The sky's growing lighter.  No
Airplanes fly, still, but the mountains have
Started to glower.  I pack.  I'm leaving Las
Vegas, another poor gambler, who, hopes
Dashed, is glad to go home.