ROLLING THE DICE

There was a man in town. We knew him as a dice roller--that's not to say he was a gambler: I never did see him sittin' at the table. No--he never raises, never calls, never matches matterof fact--he just strolls on by night by night, and leans on the wall to watch, always a pair of dice rollin' in his palm, caged in his digits like a bird in a cage that's forgotten to fly... He waves us off when we ask him to play, won't talk to naught but the bottle about why, but they say it was a girl calledhis bluff a long time ago, or perhaps it was that he got knocked down one too many times, got the tough knocked out of him, or maybe he was a gambler who lost the pot and calledhis last hand. But damn it, even if the house doesalways win we're here living in it for the long haul, all together in this congregation of voices rolling like waves calling to us "You get one life to play--you might not winit all [overtyped text] but you won't win nothin' worth a damn unless you make your bet and roll your dice! I don't know what got into him, who he talked to or who talked to him--maybe it was God... But the town boy's came shoutin' and runnin' to tell those with ears that the man with the pair of dice in his palm was dressed in somethin' Aces higher than his Sunday's best, a tailored suit with a matching hat, and skin and a face at least ten years younger, and he was sittin' at that table, yes he was, and believe me when I say, when he finally threw those dice, they droppedwith a thud that said this burden weighed at least ten tons. Don't matterif he won or not, full handsor empty as he walked into that night, because he walked standing tall to face any man.