We put place bets on 6 and 9,
pays 7 to 6 and 7 to 5 respectively,
6 and 9 with a nickel on the horn,
high yo.
The point’s an 8 and I want that 8 to come hard.
Come hard come hard the dice are out and he shoots
and it’s a ten.
6 and 4.
And the dealer says, “46 and easy, just like my mother.”
He looks like he’s getting ready to graduate high school
in a few years,
but I’ve got a good feeling about him.

I rub my girl’s butt six times clockwise
on one cheek,
six times counterclockwise
on the other cheek,
and I say come baby come, come hard,
and they send the dice and he shoots and it’s an easy 6.
2 and 4.
“Do you have a sister?” I ask the dealer.
“24 and easy? No that’s me.”

and we all laugh and I toss a nickel to come back up on the hard six,
and I tell my girl I’ll give her a hard six later it’s bad luck to say seven and I rub her butt and they send the dice
and they shout dice out hands up
and he shoots
and the dice knocks down the dealer’s stack
and rolls around the bend
and the six comes hard.
“33 and hard, that’s me motherfucker!”

and they laugh and tell me not to curse and pay me out my monthly car insurance premium,
and my odds are maxed
and 6 9 keeps hitting
and my student loans next month go in my pocket, and the table keeps coming for me,
and it’s too good to be true I think,
and I decide to pull my odds and start betting on the Don’ts,
and I rub her butt and say, don’t come baby, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come,
and the quarters pile up behind the board and I decide to short the whole goddamn table,
and I lay each point I’m taking from behind until he rolls a seven,
and everyone groans,
and I silently hang my head, wallowing in a cool pit of schadenfreude as they stack my winnings, and I am satiated with the stink of guilt as I check the smirk on my face and take what’s mine.