Just One Win Will Do It

Just One Win Will Do It

He weeps and cries and sways and sweats
And he hopes his fears are silly.
He watches the race and places his bets
On the horse his friend calls Billy.

His home, his job, and his beautiful wife
Are riding on the back of the winner.
His eyes are set on the judge's knife
As the judge sits down to dinner.

The race begins and the crowd groans loud
As the fast ride slows and falters.
He winces once, but his head stays bowed,
Hoping the jockeys will hold the halters.

No one knows that the jockey lied
And no one cares for the bettor.
No one cries that the first one died
But they weep as the track gets wetter.

Rain falls fast at the third race card
But the judge is not done eating.
So the tracks are wet and badly marred
And the jockeys take a beating.

The race's end is slow and badly pained
As the bettor whets his knife blade.
His betting slip is wet and stained
And he wonders what difference his life made.

The stands get bare in the cold night air
And the bettor hears his tear drops.
He looks at the table as they take his share.
His pain will ease when his heart stops.

This poem obviously needs work...but in my own defense, I wrote it very quickly, taking no more than half an hour to get it into the form in which it appears above. I know I need to work on each line so that the rhythm is stronger and supports the message. I need for it to have a clearer message, which I think I can accomplish by dealing with these mechanical issues. Lest you get the wrong impression, the poem is absolutely not autobiographical. I'm not a gambler, it's extremely rare that I see a horse race, and I would not allow myself to risk everything on a bet. But I can empathize with someone who finds himself in a no-win situation, hoping beyond hope that a chance, just a chance, can turn it all around. And I think I can understand how utterly devastating it would be for the failure of that last chance to result in clarity: the end of all hope.