Lower Extremities

Slot machines spit out glittery tokens,
Reverberating in the air-conditioned afternoon,
They pump in artificial air here,
Blows past my corduroy pants, worn for the occasion
Of the last conference of doctors
Specializing in lower extremities
Cold winds at night on the strip
Empty bottles on the floor
The flight out the next day
The condensation on the wing
The ice in my heart as I write this
On the occasion of my last flight
Before I return
To a New Mexico I’ve never known
In the air above
Its snowy banks and reddish clay
For how long I’ve lived like this I cannot say
But the wind carries me home,
Death comes at the loneliest hour
And at the end of my life
The lower extremities that I know so well
Will fail me in the last row on the last flight out of Vegas
In the year of our lord 2005.